Catastrophe!
by Moiraine Lendreth
Summary: Post DH As the Wizarding world slowly adjusts to life without the fear of a Dark Wizard in their midst, Harry Potter slowly comes to terms with what he has lost, what he has gained, and…being turned into a cat? Warning: HPDM slash
1. Returning to Hogwarts

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Author's Notes: What you are reading is my third HP fanfic, one that I have promised to post as soon as I could. But due to an unfortunate road accident that has confined me to this drab hospital bed for nigh two weeks now, uploading the story has become a difficulty. Only with the assistance of my sister's laptop and Luti's constant visits could I make this story available for public viewing. And now, to the warnings…_

_This story contains a yaoi pairing; more specifically, Harry and Draco's. Also, this story (but not limited to this chapter) contains lemon scenes and mature themes, which is why it is rated M. If you are uncomfortable reading either or both, please hit the back button. If not, you may continue. All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to the author, JK Rowling. Also, this story has been inspired by a Naruto doujinshi called "Yukimachiya"; to all SasuxNaru fans, I suggest you read it._

_Last but not the least, a plea: please review afterwards. Your critiques, reviews, and comments help me to make this story worth posting._

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**Chapter 1 – Returning to Hogwarts**

Harry Potter walked down the familiar corridor that led to the entrance of the headmaster's office, silently amazed to find that nothing had changed. He half-expected that Hogwarts would be somewhat oppressive and hostile, with the remnants of a battle fought not too long ago still evident in its halls and corridors. He thought there would still be a few gaping holes in the walls where the giants on Voldemort's side had thrown boulders, or streaks of soot and gouges on the stone where powerful spells must have hit. But then, Hogwarts was a castle of magic, and Harry would not be too surprised if it had decided to repair itself right after.

Still, he was more relieved than shocked at finding the castle in good order. The school felt more a home to him than Privet Drive ever did—and ever will be, he knew—with the Burrow running a close second, and 13 Grimmauld Place in third, having lived there in hiding, and where he was now currently residing along with the house elf Kreacher.

The air felt pleasantly cool against his skin, and he could hear the dull thudding noises his trainers made against the flagstone floor. Up here, in the fifth floor corridor, there was the hushed quiet that told of the absence of students who were still out enjoying the last week of summer vacation.

"A bit too quiet, isn't it?"

Ron's voice broke the silence abruptly, and Harry gave him a sideways glance. Ron was walking with Hermione and holding her hand, keeping tight by her side. Although all three of them had come together Harry couldn't help thinking he was somewhat the odd man out, and with the recent troubles between him and Ginny the gap was somewhat wider. So even if he was on Ron's other side, just a pace apart, Harry felt they were walking on opposite ends of the corridor.

Thinking about Ginny brought a tinge of sadness to Harry, and he sighed internally. It had not been his fault; or rather, it was not of his conscious choosing. Right after the battle with the Dark Lord there had been so much to do: rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, sentencing them and testifying against them, routing the giants and the Dementors… Harry busied himself with helping the Order of the Phoenix set things to right again, and when everything had returned to a more or less normal state, he found that he had changed. He had seen too much, felt too much, to pretend to be satisfied with his life and sharing it with Ginny. He had sensed it the moment he went back to the Burrow with Ginny beaming at him and hugging him tight, murmuring in his ear just how must she had missed him.

He loved her. There was no denying that. But did he love her in _that_ sense anymore? He had looked long into her eyes, really seeing her for the first time, until Ginny frowned worriedly and asked him what was wrong. Harry knew then, that he could not be with her. He had suffered a pain more immense than himself, greater than the world. He had lost his family, his friends, and he even died, once, before returning to life. There was just so much inside him he wanted to tell her, to share with her, and hoped she would understand. But something told Harry she never would, because although she had lost her brother to the war with Voldemort, she had not lost everything, like him. She would not be able to share his pain.

That was when he had started to drift away from her, silently enduring the grief. Ginny allowed him space in the beginning, but soon afterwards she sensed that he could not let her into his life anymore. They began to talk less, and fight more. Until they did nothing more than fight.

An oppressive silence filled the air between them, but Hermione's hushed tones jolted Harry back to the present. She was whispering in Ron's ear, tugging on his arm, her face set in a determined frown. She had been trying to make Harry and Ron talk to each other after Harry and Ginny's break-up, and Harry doubted she would stop now. Harry did not mind, so long as he wasn't asked to apologize for something he did not do.

Ron muttered something back, his expression incredulous at first, then frowning, then resigned. Harry walked on in silence with them, pretending not to see.

"Harry, wait a second."

For a moment Harry had half a mind to ignore Ron and continue on, but he stopped and turned toward him, his expression neutral. He had had a lot of hard lessons on masking his expressions especially during the Death Eaters' trials, and Harry had become quite good at it. "Yeah?"

Ron shifted his feet and avoided Harry's eyes, but with a nudge and a look from Hermione he continued. "Look, mate—Harry—about Ginny…"

"Drop it," Harry replied curtly, shaking his head. "You don't need to explain. And no apologies, either. It's only natural you'd get mad."

"No, I acted like a git," Ron said quickly. His ears and cheeks were red, and he was looking at everywhere except at Harry. "I thought—I mean, I knew you really wouldn't do anything to hurt her," he said, his manner awkward. "It's just that…when I saw her crying…" Ron's voice faded, and he shrugged his shoulders. He gave Harry a tentative glance.

Hermione put a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder and gave Harry a silent, reproachful look. Harry only gave her a soft smile. Ever since they started dating, Hermione had become Ron's most vicious supporter, always there for him when he needed her, but in this instance Harry knew Hermione was right. Their argument had gone long enough, and this was the most Harry could get out of Ron for an apology for punching his guts. Ah well, he had broken up with his sister, after all.

"It's alright, Ron. You don't need to apologize," Harry said. "You had every right to be angry." He paused, and looked straight at Ron. "But you have to believe me; I didn't ask for this to happen. I'd never do anything to hurt Ginny, I swear."

Ron looked up for a moment with a sad expression before lowering his gaze. "I know, mate." He took a deep breath before looking up again. "I guess things just didn't work out for the both of you, huh?" Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and Ron looked at her as if to say 'what did I do now?'

Harry shook his head again. "I…I changed, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about, though," he added with a grin that he did not really feel. But Ron smiled in reply, satisfied, although Hermione frowned slightly at Harry, her face silently questioning. Always perceptive, Hermione was, but Harry did not think he could tell her just yet. He just gave her a meaningful look that Ron did not notice, and they walked on, their steps lighter now, even Harry's.

They turned a corner and saw the stone gargoyles guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office, which now belonged to Professor McGonagall. Harry supposed he should call it the Headmistress's Office, now. For a moment Harry thought of Professor Dumbledore, missing him, but remembered their conversation in the place that had looked like Kings Cross station, and the sadness of losing the headmaster melted away.

As they came nearer the gargoyles sprang into life, beating their stone wings and turning their ugly heads in their direction. One of the gargoyles perked up when he saw Harry and said, "Oi! You there! You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Saw you during the fighting, I did—you did well against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, if I do say so myself."

"Er, thanks," Harry replied, not knowing what else to say.

"We came here to see Professor McGonagall," Hermione added. "We sent her a letter to tell we were coming."

The other gargoyle nodded and turned its stone eyes at her. "The headmistress told us you would come. But we weren't to let you in until all of you are here."

Ron looked at the gargoyle in confusion. "All of us? But we're all here."

"He meant me, Weasley."

Harry turned, and there was Draco Malfoy standing ten paces away, looking just the same as he ever did, with his challenging gray eyes and platinum blond hair and pale skin. Harry felt a hot surge of anger bellowing thunder in his ears, but he quickly controlled it and stood rigidly where he was, giving Malfoy his coldest glare. Ron, on the other hand, did not have Harry's self-control, and he lunged for Malfoy, his blue eyes fierce and his lips snarling, only to be stopped by Hermione holding back his arms.

"No, Ron! Stop!" Hermione was hissing urgently at him, grunting with the effort of holding him back. "Stop behaving like an idiot and_control_ yourself, for Merlin's sake!"

Harry helped to keep Ron back by holding onto his other arm and stared angrily at Malfoy. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. Ron had stopped struggling against them and was breathing heavily, glaring at Malfoy, too. Hermione was too busy watching Ron to care about Malfoy.

Malfoy shrugged, pointedly ignoring Ron. He looked at Harry instead, his gray eyes showing nothing. "I came here to see the headmistress, like you. And it seems we came for the same reasons." He spread his hands in a sort of gesture. "I didn't come here to fight, as much as it sounds impossible, Potter. The Dark Lord's dead, and I am no longer a Death Eater. I think it would be better if we all remember that."

Ron gave a loud snort of derisive laughter. "_You?_Not a Death Eater? I'll believe that when I see it, Malfoy. As for your_Dark Lord…_" he sneered this time, "he isn't a lord anymore, let alone alive. If you're not a Death Eater, why do you keep calling him Dark Lord then, eh?"

Malfoy shrugged again, looking indifferent. "Old habits die hard, isn't that what Muggles say?" He gave them a condescending smile. "Very well. I swear on my honor as a Malfoy I am not here as an enemy, but as a student of Hogwarts, no more no less."

Ron laughed aloud, giving Malfoy a scornful look. "And just how valuable is a Malfoy's word these days? About as much as a sack of dung, d'you reckon?"

Harry saw Malfoy's face stiffen, his gray eyes flashing, but he said nothing, only raised his chin slightly in defiance, his pale cheeks tinting pink. But Harry knew Ron had touched on a nerve. After the defeat of Voldemort, Malfoy and his family would have been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban had it not been for Arthur Weasley's insistence—and Harry's, too—that if it had not been for Narcissa's lie, Harry would not have been able to survive. Malfoy's mother also volunteered to testify against the other Death Eaters. Harry knew that Draco testified, too, but Lucius had not; instead the head of the powerful Malfoy family chose to lock himself up in his manor, and he had not been seen since.

The downfall of the Malfoys did not stop there; Harry had heard news of them from Arthur Weasley. Most of their properties and treasuries in Gringott's had been claimed by the Ministry as payment for innumerable counts of bribery and blackmail, as well as possession of a number of Dark artifacts that made Harry's eyes bulge. There were rumors that the Malfoys were dirt poor now, but Harry had suspicions they weren't _that_ destitute yet. But the damage had been done; the Malfoys have lost their position and power, and were treated like petty criminals. Harry knew they got exactly what they deserved, but he could not help feel sorry for Draco as he stood there hearing the truth slapped in his face by the person he had been looking down on not too long ago.

As if hearing Harry's thoughts Draco looked at him, his eyes daring him to feel pity. He walked away from them without another word. Harry was impressed with the way Malfoy could hold himself together like that; he did not think he could do half as good if he was in Malfoy's position.

Meanwhile, Hermione was frowning at Ron. "You didn't have to say that, Ron. Can't you see he's trying to change for the better? I heard he even had doctors from St. Mungo's remove that awful Dark Mark on his arm!"

"So what?" Ron retorted. "He's still a Death Eater to me. And he deserved everything that's happened to him," he added savagely, his face set on a wicked grin. "After all the insults he's thrown at my family, and trying to kill us—"

"Oh Ron," Hermione said despairingly, "can't you forgive him all of that? You saw what happened at their manor when we got caught, didn't you? He was being forced to be a Death Eater!"

"And he chose to be!" Ron answered back angrily. "And why are you defending him anyway?!"

"I'm not defending him!"

"That's enough," Harry cut in, seeing Hermione's face already flushed, her eyes watery, and Ron getting angrier by the minute. "It isn't the time for this. We're here to see Professor McGonagall, remember?"

They turned to find that Malfoy had already gone up ahead of them; the gargoyles had already stepped aside, and were waiting for the three of them to step up, too. Harry led the way, and was first to reach the landing to the circular room where they where to meet Hogwarts' new headmistress.

o0o0o0o

Professor Minerva McGonagall, once Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, found herself plagued with more letters and duties that morning that she ever did when she was just Head of Gryffindor House. After asking that a tray of strong tea and a plate of biscuits be brought up to her office that morning right after she had put on dark green robes, she almost wished that she could have her old job back.

But sitting here, on the old chair that Albus had once sat in, her hands resting on the surface of the large table of the Headmistress's Office, she knew she could not quit. Dumbledore had already told her this would happen; she did not believe him of course, because what harm could befall a wizard as powerful as Albus? But he was dead now, and the responsibility of running the school was hers.

She turned around and looked up at the portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses of the school, all of them leaning against their frames and sleeping. Except one. She stood up and walked near it, and the bright, twinkling eyes and half-moon spectacles of Albus Dumbledore followed her with a smile.

"I trust you had no trouble sleeping last night, headmistress?" Albus Dumbledore's portrait asked with a smile.

McGonagall gave a soft snort. "If you call resting my eyes for three hours 'sleep', then yes, I probably did," she replied. "I had to run a late meeting with the Ministry last night, did you know? They still don't know who to pick as Minister; Rufus's death was too sudden."

"Ah," Albus commented, one hand stroking his long white beard. "Perhaps they should pick Shacklebolt; the man is quite capable, I believe."

"That's what I told them, but Kingsley Shacklebolt refused the position and told them he would stay with the Order and stick with his job as an Auror," McGonagall said, shaking her head. "The Ministry is currently being supervised by the Order; as it is, they don't know how to make heads or tails of anything, what with all the giants and Dementors still running loose all over Britain. Muggles have to be Obliviated almost on a daily basis because of the giants. Thank goodness they've almost all run back to the mountains, and the few still in the lowlands are sticking to the forest. Hagrid and his brother Grawp are doing most of the work there."

Albus nodded his head in approval. "And what of the Dementors?"

"The Aurors are doing everything they can to round them all up. They've called in help from foreign Ministries, and they said they would give assistance. Only a few packs remain, though none in Muggle cities."

"That's good news."

"Yes, one of the very few I've received the past few weeks," McGonagall said. She sighed, finding herself very tired so early in the day. "And I still have to fix the problem here at school, Albus. Almost half the Slytherin House won't come back, and the fright of the battle months ago has dropped the number of incoming first years." She looked up in a troubled frown. "I'm afraid that if a student gets Sorted into Slytherin this year, his parents would want him to pack up and leave."

"Nonsense, Minerva," came Albus's reply with a soft, reassuring smile. "Now that Tom is dead, people will find that enrolling their children in the school is quite safe. What's more, hasn't Harry written a letter to you, asking that he be allowed to finish his seventh year here?"

McGonagall nodded. "Yes. Even Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger…and Draco Malfoy, much to my surprise," she added. "I didn't think Narcissa and Lucius would allow their son back to the school."

"Not Lucius, I think, no," agreed Dumbledore. "But if the news I've been hearing from you is true, then I believe Lucius doesn't control his wife and son anymore."

"True," McGonagall admitted. "But Albus…what if the boy…?

Dumbledore shook his head lightly. "There is no need to worry for him, Minerva. Think of this as a lesson for Draco, one that he must learn on his own, for a change." His face crinkled into a smile. "Have you arranged everything?"

"Yes, I did. But Albus, how on earth will this help them?"

Dumbledore only smiled in reply, and before McGonagall could ask him for a better answer, there was a knock on the door. She sighed and shook her head. This wasn't the first time Albus had planned something without telling anybody else; she would just have to trust his judgment and wait. Sitting down on the chair and taking a sheaf of papers stacked neatly nearby, she cleared her throat. "Come in."

The door opened, and Draco Malfoy stepped inside, his face blank as stone and his posture rigid. No surprises there; she had ordered the gargoyles not to let them up until all four of the students had arrived, and meeting Harry Potter and his friends must have been the reason for Malfoy's controlled anger.

Before the door was fully closed Potter and his friends stepped in. McGonagall noted the way they cast careful, guarded looks towards Malfoy, and the way they stood quite apart from him as they approached her table. McGonagall frowned and tsked impatiently. Even after all that had happened, they were still children, and they thought and acted like children, too.

"Sit down, all of you," she said curtly, with a nod at four high-backed wooden chairs placed in front of her table. She adjusted her square glasses and looked at each of them sternly. "Well, I'll get straight to the point. You are all, of course, welcome to finish your studies here at Hogwarts." Hermione Granger lit up considerably, grinning at the news. "But you won't be staying in your Houses."

That blow drove out the smile from the girl's face. Minerva watched as each brow lowered in confusion. She placed down the parchment she was holding and explained. "You are all welcomed back, but not as regular students. Technically, this would be your eighth year in Hogwarts, and you only stay in your Houses for seven years. That means you do not belong to any House at all."

"But we'll be staying at our old rooms, right?" Weasley blurted out. Minerva raised an eyebrow at him until he added a quick 'Professor' at the end.

"No, Weasley, you will not. All four of you will be staying in guest rooms in one of the towers," she answered. Her breakfast tray appeared magically on her table, and Minerva poured herself a cup of tea. "Also, a transfer student will be staying in the tower dormitory with you, a young woman named Loraine Ingleton. All of you will have the same schedules. Since you are the only five special students, I found it better if you went to the same classes. Also, Granger, Malfoy, and Weasley are relieved of their Prefect duties. Potter, you're also relieved of your Captainship on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, you understand don't you?"

Harry Potter nodded. "Of course, Professor. But are we still allowed to play?"

"I'm afraid not, Potter. It would be unfair for the other Houses if Gryffindor and Slytherin retained their senior players. You came here to finish your studies, and that is what you are going to do. Any questions?"

Minerva could see that Weasley was clearly in protest of staying in the same tower as Malfoy, Potter was disappointed that he could not play for his old House team, and Malfoy still silently angry. Only Granger seemed content with the conditions set on them. Minerva sighed inwardly. She was beginning to feel that her first year as headmistress would be more challenging than she had first thought.

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_End of Chapter 1._

_Next: Chapter 2 – A Fragile Second Beginning_

_Dedications: Thanks to my sister (who refuses to be named) and my friend Luti for bringing me fresh flowers on a daily basis, even while I was out of consciousness. Thanks, guys. This story is also dedicated to the people who loved my previous stories._

_Others: The doctor said I might be able to get out in another week (yay!). Oh yeah, and I posted the next chapter along with this. :) I hope you guys enjoy. I am also in the process of writing a Naruto fanfic, called _Wrapped in More Than Kindness_. Of course it's slash. And of course it's Naruto and Sasuke. evil laugh Also, I'm planning on continuing a HP fanfic I've previously posted in another site, but had not managed to complete. It's an AU fic, called _Sword of Fire, Crown of Truth_, with a Harry/Ginny pairing. VERY AU, indeed. But the thing is, would you like to read it? If you do, just tell me and I'll willingly post and continue it here at fanfiction(dot)net._


	2. A Fragile Second Beginning

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Author's Notes: Now I shall introduce an original character (OC), and I hope you guys like her. I had fun building up her personality and bio; don't worry though, she won't mess up the whole Harry-Draco thing. On the contrary, my dear friends. :)_

_Warnings: This is a fanfiction rated M, and contains slash. You have been forewarned. All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy names, places, and related indicia are copyright to SquareEnix, that brilliant, God-sent company that created all the Final Fantasy games I have fun playing. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth._

_Please read and review afterwards._

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**Chapter 2 – A Fragile Second Beginning**

Lors stared open-mouthed at the immensity of the castle, at the ancient grandeur of the school. For once, she did not mind that her parents insisted she moved to Hogwarts, after years of being home schooled. She actually was beginning to think she would like it here. Hoisting up her canvas rucksack on her shoulder, she followed the pearly-white shape of the ghost who was leading her to her dormitory.

Now what did the ghost say his name was? Oh yeah. "Um, Sir Nicholas? What's going on there?" she pointed to a pair of giant double doors to her right, where a thin stream of light was streaming from underneath.

The ghost followed to where her hand pointed and smiled. "Ah, young lady that is where the Great Hall is. Coincidentally, you've arrived just in time for the Sorting Feast."

"Sorting Feast?"

The ghost nodded, clearly enjoying his time as a tour guide. Lors did not mind though; she found the school fascinating. It wasn't like being at home though, but still…

"On the first day of every school year, we Sort the first years into one of four Houses, each with their own distinct honors and colorful history," the ghost was saying in a grand manner, gesticulating with his hands. "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, all named after the four Founders of the school, all aim for excellence in academics and other fields, and by the end of the year one House shall win the House Cup, which is a great honor, of course."

"But I'm not going to be Sorted, right?" asked Lors.

"The headmistress has explained your condition, hasn't she?" Lors nodded, and the ghost went right on. "Well, don't worry. You'll not be the only special student this year; there will be four others like you, except they were previous students of Hogwarts. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Draco Malfoy will join you."

"Oh." Lors kept up with the ghost easily, and she hoisted her rucksack gently, careful not to break the glass jars inside. "What happened to them?"

The ghost stopped and stared incredulously at Lors, who had stopped and stared unblinking at Sir Nick. "What? What'd I say?"

Her question seemed to snap the ghost out of his trance, and he cleared his throat. "Nothing, nothing, Miss Ingleton. Nothing at all. But still, it's a surprise that you haven't—although it's understandable—"

"What is it?"

Sir Nicholas seemed hesitant at first, but he asked, "Haven't you heard about Harry Potter at all?"

Lors scrunched up her face and rubbed the tip of her nose with one finger. "Harry Potter? Mum might've said something about him once…yeah, I think." She smiled at the ghost. "So who's Harry Potter?"

"Why, he's the wizard who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Lors blinked. "Come again?"

Sir Nicholas opened and closed his mouth, his face unreadable, but after a while he shook himself and proceeded to tell Lors all about Harry Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The ghost led the way up the stairs and through hidden passages which would have thrilled Lors to explore in another time, but she listened closely to what Sir Nicholas was telling her. A boy her age fighting a Dark wizard? An ex-Death Eater her dorms mate? She had heard rumors about those: wizards and witches fighting on a Dark wizard's side, but she had no idea someone so young would want to go ahead and _be_ one. Well, Lors thought to herself, it's what you get for going to a foreign school. The last time she'd been in Europe was when she was too small to walk; her mother was Japanese and her father was English, but they decided to live in Japan when Voldemort reared his ugly head for the first time. Until now, when both her parents had been requested to work for the Ministry of Magic in Britain.

By the time they arrived at the foot of the stairs to the tower dorm her head was swimming with Sir Nick's stories, all energetically narrated proudly, since, he claimed, he was the Gryffindor ghost, and he was quite proud of Harry and his friends, who had all come from Gryffindor. Lors eagerly wanted to meet all of them, Hermione especially; if Sir Nicholas's words were anything to go by, she would be a great help to Lors and her projects.

She climbed the stairs with the ghost drifting just ahead, until they reached the third level. On the landing Lors could see a path turning left. The ghost took it, and Lors followed. They stopped at a wooden door with silver hinges and handle. "This room will serve as your common room; don't worry about your trunk, it's been carried off to your room on the fifth level. You'll be sharing the room with Hermione Granger. The boys will be staying on the fourth level." The ghost clapped his hands together. "Well, I'm off then."

"Where are you going?"

"At the Sorting; the first years need a bit of guidance at first. They usually get lost on their first night in the castle," the ghost chuckled, and with a wave at Lors he drifted right through the wall and vanished out of sight.

o0o0o0o

Draco Malfoy adjusted his seating position on the couch nearest the fire and checked the clock on the mantelpiece. Oh, so that's why his arse was cramping up; he'd been sitting in the bloody chair for _two bloody hours already_! He shot a sharp glance at Hermione Granger with her head buried in a thick book large enough to be mistaken for a pavement block, and at Weasley and Potter playing chess in one corner of the room. He rolled his eyes and stopped himself from heaving a sigh. If this is the way Potter and his friends enjoyed their time together, Draco wondered just how long it would take before he finally cracked.

He knew it was a bad idea from the start, but from they way things are presently going, Draco didn't think it would bode well if he voiced it out to Professor McGonagall. Being in the same school as Potter and his friends was fine, so long as they kept a good distance away from him. But living in the same dormitory?

If that didn't spell disaster, Draco didn't know what did.

And what's worse, it was just the first day. He closed his eyes at the memory of that morning, when they all arrived with their trunks, all of them nodding stiff greetings to each other, except when Potter and his friends shared glances and smiles. Somehow Draco knew that if he wasn't in the same common room as them, they'd be more noisy and lively than now. The thought made anger bubble inside Draco, followed by a wave of sadness. Maybe if Crabbe or Goyle were around, it would be much better…

A knock on the door made all four heads snap up. They watched silently as a young woman their age walked in, closed the door, and waved at all of them with a smile plastered on her face. Draco could not help raising an eyebrow; either this girl's a Muggle, or she's crazy. He looked at her pointedly, from her weird dark hair streaked with orange and pulled into two buns on her head, to the black beret perched jauntily on top, and her strange ensemble of clothes—which, if Draco guessed correctly, were three layers of colors one on top of the other. She was also wearing denim trousers cut just below her knee, and her trainers looked as if it had been a victim of a child's coloring spree. She looked so…so _wild_ and out-of-place that Draco had to blink. He spared a glance at the others in the room and found almost the same reactions. Well, at least Weasley had. His eyes bugged out of their sockets, his mouth hanging open, while Granger's brow had disappeared up into her bushy brown hair. Potter seemed surprised, but took the sight of the girl in as if it were completely normal.

"Hello," the girl said cheerily, breaking the silence. "I'm going to be your new dorm mate. I'm Loraine Ingleton, but you can call me Lors." She waved one hand again, and this time Draco saw that three of her fingers wore two rings _each_, thick bands of pink, green, orange and yellow. Why in Merlin's name would anyone want to wear so many rings?

"Oh, hi," said Granger quickly, standing up and offering her hand. She smiled at Ingleton. "I'm Hermione. And this is Ron, and Harry."

Weasley and Potter shook hands with her next, Ron still giving her a weird look, but Potter smiled. Draco snorted inwardly. Trust Potter to be nice to everyone in the planet.

"And that one over there's Draco Malfoy."

Draco's eyebrow was half-raised in interest; he didn't think Granger would introduce him to Ingleton. Ingleton just walked over to him and offered her hand with her cheery smile. "Hello, Draco. I'm Lors."

"Indeed," Draco answered dryly, looking at her hand, but not taking it. "A pleasure."

Draco felt smug as the smile melted from Ingleton's face, to be replaced by an unreadable expression. She turned around to where Granger and the others were. "Is he always like this? Anti-social?"

Draco's eyes darkened into a glare behind Lors, but she didn't seem to notice. Draco heard Weasley bark a laugh. "You'll get used to it."

Draco could feel annoyance rising to the fore, and he gave Weasley a silver glare. "Shut up, Weasel. And I am not anti-social. Contrary to what you idiots think, I _choose_ who I hang out with. " He gave them a sneer. "Definitely not Mudbloods, that's for sure." He was rewarded with a very pissed off Weasley standing up abruptly, the chessboard thrown off the table in the process.

Weasley looked about to do murder as he made one step forward. "What did you say?" he growled. Granger was up at once, holding onto his arm.

Draco shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Don't you speak English, Weasley? I said I—ow!" He glanced up and saw Ingleton dusting her hands together. "What was that for?!"

"I saw a mosquito," Ingleton replied without blinking, shrugging. "It was really big, so I had to smack it _really_ hard. Sorry." She was grinning all the while, and she even winked at Draco.

Draco could see Granger and Potter holding back laughter, while Weasley guffawed loudly. Ingleton only shrugged again and heaved up a rucksack on her shoulder. "Anyway, it's a pleasure knowing you, Draco." She turned to the others before Draco could speak. "So. Can anyone tell me when's dinner?"

"House elves will be bringing up our dinner later on," Hermione replied, with a slightly disagreeing frown; she _still_ hadn't given up on S.P.E.W. "Professor McGonagall wanted to talk with all of us before we start eating with the other students down at the Great Hall."

"Ah." Ingleton sat down on another chair, midway between Draco and the others. "Mind if I called all of you by your first names? It's kind of strange for me to call you by your family names, see. It feels funny. No one's called me Ingleton my whole life. Just Lors."

"Of course," Hermione smiled. "I don't think it would be a problem." She darted a glance across the room at Draco, who only glared on in silence.

Lors turned her head and smiled again at Draco. "That's alright with you, Draco?"

Draco muttered something unintelligible and turned his back on them, choosing instead to stare at the fire in the hearth. Lors shrugged and leaned towards Hermione. "What's wrong with him?"

"Well…" Hermione said uneasily. "It's a long story. You've heard the news, haven't you?"

"News? No, I don't think so," Lors replied. "My family's been living in Japan since last week, and we've only just moved, so I don't really know. Well, just a bit. Sir Nicholas has been telling me stories…"

"Where's Japan?" Ron asked, interested.

"It's a long way across the sea. Out in the East."

"Did you go to a school there?" Hermione asked in turn. "I heard there were wizarding schools in the Orient that specialized in certain things."

"Yeah, there's a few of them," Lors answered. "My mom—she's Japanese—she studied in this school where they study Potions in-depth. It's the reason she's been sent here with my dad. They're both studying about spells and potions, though Dad's really an expert on magical animals and all that."

"And your Dad?" Harry asked. "Is he Japanese, too?"

"Oh no, he's British," Lors answered. "But they decided to move to Japan right after Voldemort began terrorizing people…what? What did I say?" she asked confusedly, because both Hermione and Ron were looking quite surprised at her.

"You said his name," Ron breathed out. Lors frowned.

"So? You say it all the time, right?"

"Not always," Hermione answered. "At least, not as easily as we do now. We've always used to call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Not Harry though," Ron added. "He's always been as brave as Dumbledore."

"Don't be stupid Ron," Harry cut in, face slightly flushed in embarrassment. "It just doesn't make sense if you feel scared of a name."

Lors watched them with her head tilted in observation. "So Voldemort's a really nasty piece of work, huh? I never knew; well, we heard the news, but I didn't think it was this bad."

Harry shook his head with a sigh this time, his eyes turning away. "You had no idea, Lors."

Silence fell between them, and conversation died away as each of them relived the memories of the not so distant past. Lors could almost feel the palpable grief, and cleared her throat. "So…um, when's the headmistress coming?"

As if on cue there was a knock on the door, and McGonagall stepped inside, wearing deep magenta robes, her square glasses reflecting the orange light of the fireplace. "So you're all here. Good. There are a few things I need to tell you before the term start officially."

Lors found herself sitting up straight and placing her hands on her lap like a little girl. She found Professor McGonagall quite intimidating. She looked around, and saw Hermione and the others sit up straight, too. Glad to find she wasn't the only one, she listened carefully to the headmistress.

"First, there have been a few changes. One is that I am no longer Head of Gryffindor House. Professor Moody has been given that position, since he's been so kind as to come back to Hogwarts as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Slughorn is, again, Head of Slytherin House and our Potions Master. Also, I have brought you your class schedules." She brought out her wand and gave it a wave, and their class tables appeared in a stack on her hand. She passed it on to Hermione.

"Now, you've all met Miss Ingleton. She's a transfer student, to take on her last year of education. She will also take highly advanced Potions class with Professor Slughorn, so I have assigned her a small potions laboratory on the second floor of the tower." She gave a stern glance at Lors, who gulped. "I expect you will use the laboratory for its intended purpose, Miss Ingleton. I would not have agreed to this had your parents not told me of your accomplishments in the field. Frankly speaking, I didn't think a person as young as you could invent those things."

"What things?" Ron frowned.

"About that, Mister Weasley, I think Miss Ingleton could explain later," McGonagall answered. "You are allowed to roam the castle at night, but the Forbidden Forest is still off limits for students. Is that understood?" Everyone nodded. "Good. I hope you have a pleasant evening, then. The house elves will send your food up shortly." She nodded her head to them in greeting, turned around, and left.

Lors let out the breath she'd been holding. "She's…scary."

"You think?" Ron asked. "Wait till you have her for Transfiguration."

"That's stupid, Ron," Hermione scoffed. "Professor McGonagall's really a nice person, Lors. She's just strict about rules, that's all."

Harry watched Lors hug her knapsack to her chest as she sat. "Hey Lors, what did McGonagall mean about your accomplishments?"

"That? Oh, it's because I've always helped my Mum and Dad a lot in their work since I was a kid," Lors explained. "And they taught me everything they know. They still do, by the way. And one time I had this idea of bottling up spells."

Hermione frowned, but she leaned in closer, interested. "Bottling up spells?"

Lors nodded. "See, potions are like spells, aren't they? You make them to achieve a desired effect. But potions take a long time. You can use spells, most of the time, but if you're a Squibb that's a bit hard to do."

"You mean impossible," Ron snorted. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but Ron didn't see.

"Er…yeah. That's right. So I wanted to see if I can make a spell and bottle it up so it can be carried anywhere, to be used anytime."

"And?" Harry prompted. "Did you make one?"

"Well…" Lors scratched behind one ear. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Lors nodded, and she opened her knapsack. Harry and the others, even Draco, watched curiously as she drew out a rounded glass bottle with a long thin neck and a wooden cork. The glass in itself was nothing special; it was plain, clear glass, but it was filled with a red liquid that pulsed with a red-orange light. It shimmered in Lors's hand as she held it out for them to see.

"What is it?" Ron breathed.

Hermione leaned for a closer look, her eyes squinting. "It feels warm," she said. "Like liquid fire?"

Lors shook her head, but she smiled proudly as she set down the bottle on the table. "It's the essence of an _Incendio_ spell. You throw the bottle anywhere and it will ignite a blaze five feet in diameter. It'll burn anything, but it doesn't last long."

"You mean you just throw it like a grenade?" Harry asked.

"What's a grenade?" Ron asked.

Lors shook her head. "No, not like those exploding things Muggles use. You shake the bottle twice, until the liquid turns white, then you throw it when you want to use it."

Hermione gingerly picked up the bottle. "Why shake it twice?"

"I put in bomb fragments in there," Lors explained, and Harry's face lit up in recognition. "Oh, not the bombs that are Muggle-made. The monster type of bombs. Attack them three times and they explode. My Dad found them in the volcanoes near Singapore. Nearly wiped out his whole team when a native tried whacking one with a pole."

Hermione quickly put down the bottle. "Is it…well, are you sure it's safe to carry it everywhere like this?"

"Oh sure," Lors replied. She picked up the bottle and put it back inside her rucksack. "You just don't shake it too much. Anyway, there are bottles of Cooling and Freezing Charms in my bag, too."

"Fascinating," Hermione exclaimed. "Can you show me how you do it?"

"Why not?" Lors grinned. "Let's go down to the lab so I can properly set it up."

Lors and Hermione talked as they got up and out the door with Ron right behind them. When Ron looked back, Harry was still sitting. "You coming, mate?"

Harry looked up at Ron and gave him a smile. "I'll catch up later, Ron. I need to unpack a few things first."

Ron paused for a moment, studying Harry, but he only shrugged his shoulders. "Alright." He closed the door behind him.

The moment the door was closed Draco stood up and glared at Harry. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry looked up and gave Malfoy his best, innocent look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Draco sneered at him. "You might be the Boy Who Lived, Potter, but you're a terrible liar."

Harry wanted to bite out a retort, but he kept his tongue still. Instead he studied Malfoy carefully. He could see the defiance in his storm gray eyes, the silent challenge, like the one he had seen every day for the past seven years. But there was something else; the bitter pain of loss and humiliation. And yet he was still here.

"Why?" Harry finally asked. He tilted his head at Draco. "Why did you come back?"

Malfoy's sneer faltered for a moment. "What do you mean why, Potter? I have every right to go back to school, same as you."

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy," Harry said, and he made his voice firm, but soft. He pitied Malfoy the way his life changed so abruptly, and it stifled his anger. He had been there when Narcissa testified against her sister Bellatrix. He had seen the disgust painted all over the Lestranges' faces, their shock giving over to seething hatred. Harry remembered it clear as daylight: spittle flew from Bellatrix's lips as she cursed and screamed at her sister, Draco watching with his face set like stone. But Harry had seen his eyes, and they were not stone at all.

Malfoy took a step back, and then another. His face turned pale, his eyes darting everywhere, looking for an escape. But Harry was nearest the door, blocking his path. The fire crackled loudly in the fireplace. Finally Malfoy seemed to have reached a decision, and stood his ground, thrusting his chin up defiantly like he always did. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Potter," he spat hatefully.

"No. You don't have to," Harry agreed. He set himself to picking up the chess pieces strewn across the carpeted floor. "I just wanted to know."

"Well I don't want to tell you," Malfoy snapped.

"Your mother told me everything, Malfoy. Why you let yourself be Marked, I mean."

Harry looked up to see Malfoy staring blankly at him, his face stark white. Harry sat back down on his chair. "Malfoy?"

"Liar." Draco shook his head, refusing to believe. He scowled at Harry. "She told you nothing."

Harry sighed. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he first thought. "She did, Mal—Draco. About how you were forced by Voldemort to be a Death Eater and prevent your father from being killed by him. She told me how you refused at first, but then you had no other choice."

"Shut up!" Malfoy hissed. "And don't call me Draco! You don't even know me!"

Harry stamped down the urge to throttle Draco and make him see sense. But of course, Draco doesn't know what happened between his mother and Harry, the day Bellatrix had been sentenced to Azkaban.

The entire Wizengamot was there, Harry remembered, in the dim, high, circular room where he himself had been tried, deep under the Ministry office. As the Lestranges' cries of fury dwindled, people started to stream out of the room in their dark, somber robes. Most whispered with their companions, darting quick glances at him and the the witch still standing by the witness's stand. Harry watched all of them go as he sat on one of the lowest benches. Arthur Weasley, Ron's dad, was there with him, and he shook his head sadly.

"Well, that's the last for today," Mr. Weasley sighed as he massaged his neck. "The Ministry decided to keep all Death Eaters under triple guard while in Azkaban, until they gather all the Dementors back again."

Harry looked up at Mr. Weasley, disgust and surprise mingled with anger in his face. "After all that's happened, they still want to use those…those monsters? Look at what happened when they got loose!"

"Harry, I know what you feel, but the Ministry thinks it's the best thing to do." He saw Harry's face, and quickly added, "But don't worry, m'boy. The Order's trying to talk them into destroying the Dementors and find an alternative for them." He patted Harry's shoulder. "We know Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted the Dementors back, either."

Harry nodded, ashamed of his sudden burst of anger. Mr. Weasley only nodded and smiled in understanding, though. As they both stood up to leave, a witch in dark black robes approached them, her pale skin ashen and her hair hidden beneath a cowl. But they could see her bright eyes, trained on Harry.

Narcissa Malfoy nodded in silent greeting to them both. Mr. Weasley frowned slightly, but did not talk, only nodded back in greeting. Harry only stood there, his face wiped of emotion. "Arthur…I would like to talk to Harry Potter. Alone, please."

Mr. Weasley had started to shake his head, but Harry forestalled him. "No, it's alright, Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley eyed Narcissa doubtfully. "Are you sure, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "I'll catch up with you later."

Mr. Weasley left, his face clearly questioning Harry's decision, but he only patted Harry's shoulder before leaving with the other wizards and witches who had attended the trial. As the doors closed behind the last wizard, a small man with large glasses carrying thick rolls of parchment, Harry and Narcissa Malfoy were alone.

Narcissa had put down the cowl from her face and looked straight at Harry. This close, Harry could see where Draco got his looks; Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful, her pale skin contrasting with her dark lips and eyes. She stood regally, like a queen, although it was marred by the lines of worry in her eyes and the ashen color of her cheeks. Her eyes were also red-rimmed, as if she had been crying.

"Harry Potter," she began, her tone clipped and soft, "I must thank you for sparing my family the same fate as that of my sister's."

"It's nothing," Harry replied. "You lied to Voldemort to save my life, after all."

Harry saw Narcissa wince at hearing Voldemort's name, but she did not comment on it. Rather she gave him a soft, rueful smile. "But I only did it to save my son's life."

Harry shrugged. "I know. But you saved my life, just the same."

Narcissa studied Harry carefully then, as if weighing and measuring him, until Harry felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "My son…he told me how you saved him in Hogwarts. Inside the Room of Requirement."

Harry could feel his cheeks burn. "Oh. That. Er…"

At that moment Narcissa swiftly bent down on her knees and grabbed Harry's hands into her own. "Thank you, Harry Potter," she murmured. "I know the enmity that exists between you and Draco, but still you saved him. Even though he had tried to kill you."

_On more than one occasion, actually_, Harry mentally added, but he only shook his head and tried to bring Narcissa back up on her feet. "No, really, it's nothing. You don't need to go kneeling on me…er, Mrs. Malfoy…"

Narcissa finally did stand, albeit slowly, and her eyes were still trained on Harry, as if memorizing his every move. Harry felt downright conscious of himself, but he tried not to squirm under her penetrating gaze. "Er…is there anything else, Mrs. Malfoy?"

This seemed the most appropriate thing to say, since Harry had no idea how he could pick up their conversation after the woman kneeled to him. It was awkward, to say the least, if he just went and left her there. Harry watched Narcissa's face, and was surprised to see relief flashed in her eyes, as if she had been waiting for him to say exactly that.

"Yes, actually, there is," Draco's mother stood up straighter, as if a great weight was lifted from her shoulders. "You have heard, I believe, about what happened to our…properties?"

Harry suddenly felt like he had been caught listening in on someone else's private conversation. "Uh…yeah," he replied, thinking it was best not to lie.

Narcissa gave him a brief smile. "There is no need for shame, Harry Potter. I had expected it from the beginning, when I betrayed the Dark Lord to save my son. Yes, what you have heard is true: the Malfoys are neither powerful nor wealthy any longer. The Ministry has appropriated almost all our assets as recompense for my husband's numerous underhanded dealings with the Ministry and the Death Eaters." She shook her head. "A long time ago I would have been outraged, but now all I think of is the safety of my family. My husband…" her voice trailed off, and Harry could see deep sadness in her eyes, a flash of resignation in her face—but in the blink of an eye it was gone, as if Harry had just imagined it.

"Well, never mind my husband. I am here because of my son, Draco."

Harry could not help the look of confusion in his face. "Your…son?"

"Yes. I am worried of what is waiting for him now that it is publicly known he has become a Death Eater." For the first time lines of worry were clearly evident in her face. "We have all undergone the painful process of removing the Dark Mark—oh yes, Harry Potter, it was quite painful," she said grimly, and her right hand gripped her left arm unconsciously. "Normally, removing marks created by magic are quite painless, but it seems the Dark Lord did not want to let any one of us go without pain or payment…but we paid the price, and the Mark is gone." She lifted the sleeve on her left arm and exposed pale, white skin, with no sign of the Mark.

Harry did not know what to say to this, so he remained silent, waiting. Narcissa continued.

"But I know that even though we are no longer Marked, the tie between the Death Eaters and our family has been made clear. It would take more than just the absence of the Dark Lord's mark on our skin to persuade people otherwise. If, before, wizards and witches feared and respected the Malfoy name…" she drew a long, shuddering breath. "…now we are nothing, a subject of ridicule and mockery."

"People will forget eventually," Harry said before he could stop himself. He understood what Narcissa was saying; he had been the subject of hate and ill rumors, too, when the _Prophet_ spread all those tales about him.

Narcissa smiled, and this time the haughtiness of her beauty melted away for a moment, showing genuine happiness in Harry's words. "Thank you, Harry. But we both know it is not as easy as you make it sound. Draco has…" she frowned again this time, and shook her head. "He is my only son; I have done everything in my power to protect and nurture him, but I cannot protect him from what is happening now." She looked up at Harry. "His world has turned upside down since the Dark Lord's fall, and I can do nothing but comfort him with words."

Harry studied Narcissa's face; the first time he met her, during the Quidditch Cup Finals, he assumed her to be every bit as snobbish as her son. Seeing her like this brought her into a new light, though, and Harry could not help wonder how quickly he had misjudged her. "What do you want from me, then?"

Narcissa looked straight into his eyes. "Grant me this boon, Harry Potter. Think of it as payment for saving your life. Should you ever meet my son…if your paths cross again…give him another chance."

Harry frowned. "I don't understand. What—"

"You have always known him as your enemy," Narcissa cut him off. "But now he can do you no harm. It is his father, you see, who has always controlled the paths both my son and I take. Draco cannot be blamed for his actions. It was Lucius who had taught Draco the love for power, and eventually to embrace the Death Eater's fate." She looked away. "I know it was wrong, but there had been no other choice."

Harry blinked at her. What she was asking of him was definitely not the easiest of favors, especially since his hatred for Draco had grown to something akin to instinct; he just _hated_ his guts, and the hate seemed to have become natural. Undoing that hatred would take a lot of work. Not to mention, his best mate would not exactly be all gung-ho about the idea. He looked at her again, studying her eyes: determined and sincere, shadowed by desperation. As if she had nothing else to loose, but this.

"I will," Harry answered.

The gratitude was clearly evident in her face, but she bowed to him, once, and it was gone, replaced by her usual cool and unshakable calm. Only a hint of a smile showed in her eyes. "You will forever hold my gratitude, Harry Potter. Until we meet again."

She glided away with her back straight and her head held high, as if Harry's promise would bring the Malfoys back on their feet. Harry watched her go, awed by her regality, and a tiny voice in Harry's mind told him that Draco inherited that from her mother, too.

The loud slamming of a door jerked Harry back to the present, and he realized that Draco had left him alone in the small common room. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he slumped back on his chair and closed his eyes.

_So much for trying to get to know him._

* * *

_End of Chapter 2._

_Next: Chapter 3 – The First Catastrophe. Determined to keep his word, Harry tries to begin mending the rift between him and Draco, although Draco seems intent on staying as far away form him as humanly possible. But what's going to happen if Harry gets turned into a cat by accident?_


	3. The First Catastrophe

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Author's Notes: Oh goody, we're in chapter three! Now comes the good part…_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Please read and review afterwards._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 3 – The First Catastrophe**

Hermione looked back as they started to descend the winding stairs, Lors already three steps ahead of her. Ron was only just closing the door, his face marred by a troubled expression. She waited for him to come to her, absently holding her hand as they began to descend the steps. Lors was already gone from sight.

She squeezed his hand. "Something wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing, nothing's wrong. Why? Do I look like there's something wrong?"

Hermione could not help the chuckle that escaped her lips. "You're a really bad liar, you know that, Ronald? Both you _and _Harry."

Ron looked indignant for a second before it melted into a sigh. He looked morosely at her. "Am I really that bad? Ginny said I couldn't lie to save my life, but I didn't believe her."

Hermione patted the hand that was holding her own. "It's not that bad," she consoled with a soft smile. "So…what's wrong with Harry?"

"How'd you know it was Harry?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just answer the question, Ron."

"Well…" Ron began hesitantly, "Harry didn't want to come with us."

Hermione tilted her head. "What's wrong with that?"

"But Hermione," Ron retorted in a slight whine, "Malfoy's in that room! With Harry! Alone! Harry'd never want to be in the same room with that slimy git for a second." He pointed stiffly at the door of the offending room.

"Right. And you think that's wrong?" Hermione asked flatly. The tone should have warned Ron, but he did not take the hint. Ron never did.

"Of course it's wrong! It's…it's not—not normal!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Ronald, it won't kill Harry to start being nice to Malfoy!" Hermione snapped, irritation heating her voice. This was one side of Ron she definitely did not like; his prejudice against Malfoy. Granted, Malfoy was always a downright beast every time they crossed paths, but this time was different. He could do them no more harm. And doesn't everyone deserve a second chance, even scum like Draco Malfoy?

Ron's face flushed red, and he opened his mouth to answer back, when Lors's head popped out of the sharp turn ahead of them. "Uh…is there something wrong? I thought I heard you guys fighting."

Both Ron and Hermione's heads swiveled in Lors's direction. It was Hermione who shook her head. "It's nothing," she assured Lors. "We're not really fighting. Just…discussing something."

The look on Lors face said she didn't believe a word of it, but she only shrugged her shoulders and did not comment. "Right. Well, we're on the second floor, and this is the only door I've seen coming up, so I guess we're here. Ah, good, it's not locked." She turned the knob shaped like a lion's head and pushed the door open.

Hermione walked past Ron, still angry at him, and stopped abruptly when she got inside. The laboratory was slightly larger than the common room upstairs, with two long, low wooden tables running the entire length of the circular room. Both tables were filled with numerous bottles, boxes, decanters, vials, and jars of stuff Hermione did not recognize and a few she knew by sight. There were shelves on neat rows hanging from the stone walls laden with more items and books, and on one side was a fireplace slightly smaller than the one in the common room they had upstairs. There was also a desk and a chair near the door, and a writing table.

Ron walked in and went goggle-eyed at the sight of the room. "Snape'll go bonkers when he sees this room," he said in an awed tone. "His potions office is nothing compared to this!"

Hermione agreed silently, walking over to one side of the wall where several metal and glass instruments hung. She also saw several made of gold. "Professor McGonagall allowed you to use all of _this_?"

"Oh, most of this is my stuff," Lors replied, putting down her knapsack on one table. "These items were collected on trips with my parents. Some of them were really hard to get by. See this powder?" She shook a small glass jar at them. It was the size of Hermione's closed fist. "It's White Incense, taken only from the wings of a great bloody bird that could easily snap my head off with its beak, and we had to kill seven of those to get this many!"

Ron looked at the jar Lors was holding and scratched his head. "Couldn't you buy that in the market?"

Lors snorted. "Are you kidding? You won't find anyone stupid enough to go hunting giant birds in a great snowy mountain. It's like a secret potion ingredient."

"Huh? Then why are you telling us?" Ron asked, confused.

"So you'd know better than to do something stupid like opening jars and boxes without any idea of what's in them," Lors replied, while pointedly looking at Ron, who had already lifted the cover off of a ceramic brown jar on one of the lower shelves. The top had already begun to emit thin streams of sickly yellowish-brown smoke. When Ron saw, he dropped the lid quickly and stepped back. Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"How do you get all of these things?" Hermione asked as she peered at glass jars and cases. "Don't tell me you buy Class A Non-Tradable Goods?"

"What? No, 'course not," Lors answered with a snort. "My parents usually collect them on expeditions during their studies. Some we buy from people who actually sell them, but they're hard to find, and their prices would drive you up the wall besides." She scratched at her chin. "Now that you think about it though…some of these stuff might be Class A… oh well," she shrugged, "people this side of the world don't even know most of these items exist, so it's not a big deal."

"Now about those Freezing and Cooling Charms…"

Hermione, now quite alert, followed Lors as she walked to her knapsack and began to empty its contents on the table, but not before Lors pushed away several boxes and bottles out of the way to provide some space. When she was done, there were two bottled _Incendio_ spells, four bottles with a cobalt blue shimmering liquid inside, and three bottles which, Hermione was surprised to see, were completely covered in ice. Thin tendrils of fog streamed from those bottles, which she saw contained something deep blue in color.

Lors took one of the bottles with the shimmering liquid inside. "These are your Cooling Charms. I had to add Arctic Winds to these before I could bottle the spell up. Same with the Freezing Charms." She nodded at the three frozen bottles. "I had to add Antarctic Winds for those."

Hermione tentatively touched a bottled Freezing Charm with one finger. She withdrew her hand with a yelp. The bottle felt colder than ice! "So how do you use them? Throw them at your target?"

Lors nodded. "They have the same effect as the spells, but with a bit more strength, because of the ingredients I added."

"Like the…Arctic wind," Hermione added, and Lors nodded again. Hermione looked at the bottle in Lors's hand. "How do you do it?"

Ron, who had up to this point been watching, now turned his attention to exploring the lab again when Lors began to explain about bottling spells. He had already seen most of what the room offered, except… there was a cabinet of dark polished wood on the farthest end of the room from where they were, sitting by itself. It had a clear glass front, and Ron could see three levels of shelving inside, each laden with small covered boxes made of black, unpolished stone.

As Ron walked up to the cabinet, a prickly cold feeling crept up his arms, and he rubbed at them slowly. The feeling came stronger as he came nearer, and only when he was right in front of the cabinet did he realize it was because he was near those dark, unlabeled boxes. A shiver ran right up his spine.

"Oi! Don't touch that!"

Ron spun around, raising his hands in an innocent gesture. "I didn't do anything!" he said quickly.

Lors went over to him at a quick walk, followed by Hermione. She looked Ron over. "Are you sure you didn't touch those boxes?"

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't touch them," Ron replied, confused by Lors's sudden alarm. "Er, what'll happen if I touch them?"

Lors made a noncommittal noise as she peered into the cabinet. "You'll probably get poisoned, or die, or lose an arm, or whatever part of you touched those boxes.

Hermione stepped back from the cabinet warily. "What on earth do you have in there?"

Lors turned to them with a grave expression. "You don't want to know."

A knock on the door made Hermione jump, but Lors only turned her head. A moment later Harry's head popped in, looking around the lab.

"Mind if I join you?"

Lors ushered him in, enthusiastically explaining about the laboratory and its contents as they walked to where Hermione and Ron were standing. Harry looked at everything with only little interest, nodding absently once in a while to what Lors was saying.

Hermione smiled at Harry, trying to read the emotions her friend was expertly concealing beneath the surface. "Ron told me you were left behind with Malfoy."

Harry shrugged, fingering a little vial made of green glass on one of the shelves. "Yeah."

"Did you try talking to him?"

Harry looked away, pretending to play with an instrument on the table. "It didn't work, though."

Ron was safely out of earshot, watching Lors as she used wooden tongs to open one of the bottled Freezing Charms. Hermione placed a hand on Harry's arm. "He'll come around soon enough," she said encouragingly. Harry had told her about his encounter with Narcissa, and Hermione agreed to help Harry in any way she could. Harry also asked her to keep it secret from Ron, and she agreed, albeit only on Harry's promise that he would tell Ron himself. Harry agreed reluctantly, saying Ron would not take it well; Hermione privately agreed with him, but Ron needed to learn how to forgive Malfoy for his past transgressions. Come to think of it, she and Harry needed to learn how to forgive Malfoy, too.

Hermione bit back a yawn; she felt tired all of a sudden, and talking about Malfoy and his mother's favor from Harry…"I think I'm going to bed," she said sleepily, wiping a watery eye. "Coming?"

Harry shook his head and gave her a slight smile. "I'll go later. Besides, I haven't seen Lors's lab, haven't I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just don't go near the cabinet on the wall over there; Lors said it's dangerous." She bid Lors a goodnight and dragged Ron with her, saying they had to wake up early for classes tomorrow. Harry watched in silent amusement as Ron tried to pry Hermione's hand away, arguing with her, but it was no use. Hermione glared sharply at him and marched them both out the door.

"They make a nice couple," Lors commented as the door closed. "But Hermione can be a bit bossy with Ron sometimes, and Ron is…well, not really my type," she ended with a shrug. "Aren't you going up to bed yet?"

"Ah, I wanted to have a bit of a look inside this lab of yours," Harry lied quickly, scratching behind his ears and grinning. In truth he wanted to clear his head a bit by walking, but the sounds of voices made him open the door while he was descending the stairs. "What're you doing?"

Lors was placing a small pewter cauldron over an iron tripod set up on the table, under which there was a magical fire, with blue flames exactly like the one Hermione was so adept at conjuring. The table wasn't even scorched, but Harry knew those flames were as hot as the ordinary ones. "I'm making a potion."

Harry watched as she tossed a small piece of some deep red crystal into the magical fire; in moments the fire had grown, tips of the flames already lapping up the sides of the pewter cauldron. Lors began adding liquid ingredients from several bottles on the table, none of which Harry recognized. "What potion are you making?"

"Oh, a bottled spell again," Lors replied. She looked up at Harry with a grin. "I'm trying the spell for Transfiguring things into animals."

Harry walked up to the cauldron and peered inside. The red liquid inside was thick and already bubbling; it looked like tomato soup. Harry scrunched up his nose. It even _smelled_ like tomato soup. "Do you have a recipe?"

"Recipe? 'Course not," Lors answered. "I'm trying to figure it out by trial and error, just like the others."

"What?" Harry looked at her, alarmed. "What if this potion blew up in your face?"

Lors. "Well, _that_ would be a problem. We'd have to rebuild this whole lab if it came to that."

"You…you're not even worried you might get killed?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Killed? Why would I be?" Lors asked, as if Harry was asking her something so completely obvious. "I've got several wards around this lab and on myself whenever I'm working. Ah, don't worry, you've been warded, too," she added, correctly reading the look on Harry's face.

Harry was relieved, but did not say anything. He only watched as Lors continued adding a pinch of some white powder and slices of some unknown dried plant root, mixing the concoction with a glass rod once in a while. The potion had turned bright yellow now, and emitted puffs of pale blue smoke. Harry's mind wandered as he watched Lors work; he silently berated himself on how his first attempt to talk to Malfoy had utterly failed.

He should have said something that much was obvious. He had already begun a conversation with Draco, but he screwed it all up by having a flashback! He frowned absently, irritated at himself. No wonder he got mad and left him in the common room! He must have looked like a daydreaming idiot. Harry considered if he should attempt to talk to Draco again the next day; the idea did not appeal to him at all, but he had made a promise, and he would be damned if he wasn't going to keep it.

"Something on your mind?"

The sound of Lors's voice interrupted Harry's thoughts; he had to blink several times to focus on her. "Huh?"

Lors gave a snort. "Yeah, something's definitely on your mind." She leaned against the table. "Anything I can do to help?" she offered.

"It's nothing," Harry told her, shaking his head.

"You know, when a guy says it's nothing, and he looks the way you do now, it means there's something wrong." She grinned. "When a girl says it's nothing, it means the guy's in deep trouble."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Where did you hear that?"

"My mother."

"And is it true?"

"All the time," Lors replied, and began stirring her potion again, which had already turned a deep, black color. "There. Now I need to let this stew overnight before brewing it again. _Then_ I can add the final ingredients before testing."

As Lors began to clean up and stow away her cauldron, Harry asked, "Lors? Have you ever tried to…er, get along with a person who hated you before?"

Lors tilted her head at Harry for a few moments, studying his face, before she answered. "A couple of times, yes. It wasn't easy mind you."

"Yeah…" Harry smiled wanly, agreeing with her. "How did you do it?"

"Do it? It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how strongly you want to get along with the other person."

Harry frowned slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Lors crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the table again. "Think about it; if you really want to be friends with someone, you'd try several times to talk to him, right? You'd be patient and try to understand him. But if you're just doing it for the sake of…well, let's say because your others friends asked it of you, you won't try half as hard."

Harry thought about it for a moment. "I see."

Lors studied Harry's face for a long while as they stood there in silence. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Ah, no. Thanks anyway, Lors."

Lors smiled. "No problem."

o0o0o0o

Early morning light filtered through the windows and straight onto Draco's face, waking him from his sleep. He tried to glare at the windows, cursing himself for forgetting to close the drapes on his four-poster bed, but only managed to open his eyelids feebly. A jaw-creaking yawn broke his sleepiness, and Draco resigned himself to the inevitable, sitting up from his bed, only to have his foul mood return when he saw where he was.

For a moment he thought he was back at Malfoy Manor; the feel of the thick linens and the warmth of the sunlight filtering in from the high window reminded him of home. Draco felt awash in sadness, and his face crumpled; his mother had been his only comfort at home, but now he could not even rely on that to lessen the misery he was suffering from. His mother was beset by sorrows of her own, and her smile was nothing more than an old memory to Draco, now.

His moment of grief lasted only a second, though, as Draco gave himself a mental shake and composed his face to its usual staidness, to be marred by a scowl of anger as his eyes landed on two other four-poster beds in the room, one on either side of his, forming three points of the compass in the large, circular room. One bed was already empty, but the other still had its drapes closed, and Draco could hear loud snores from inside. His lips curled in disgust. He had a feeling it was Weasley still sleeping on the bed; he couldn't really imagine Harry snoring in his sleep.

His anger increased threefold at the thought of Harry, and he was reminded of their abrupt conversation last night. How dare the idiot pry into his affairs! And to mention his mother—! Draco had to stop himself from slamming the lid of his trunk as he took out his uniform, still lined in Slytherin green. For a moment he thought of the peculiar arrangements McGonagall had put them in; it wouldn't make any difference if they had stayed with their old Houses, so it seemed unusual for them to be separated from the other students like this. What is that old hag up to?

After getting dressed Draco wrote a short letter for his mother, planning to send it to her before going down the Great Hall for breakfast. It was still quite early; out the window he saw that the sun had not fully risen yet, only half of it peeking from the horizon, the sky a clash of pinks and golden hues. He tucked the finished letter in the inner pocket of his robes and descended the tower dormitory, walking briskly while rubbing his hands together; the air was chilly, and his breath came out in small clouds of mist.

Once up in the Owlery, Draco began searching for his eagle owl, and found it on one of the lower alcoves, its head tucked under a wing and still sound asleep. He rubbed a finger gently behind its head to wake it up. The eagle owl was one of many they had in the manor, but now they only had less than half. Draco thought it lucky his own owl wasn't one of those they had lost. The eagle owl shook its feathers and gave a soft hoot, raising one leg to Draco.

Draco took out his letter and tied it deftly on the owl's leg. "Bring it straight to Mother, you understand?" he ordered softly. "And come back straightaway if she's sent a reply."

The owl hooted again, louder this time, before spreading its wings and taking off. Draco watched the owl speed away until it was nothing more than a speck in the sky. As he turned around, Draco noticed a snowy white owl perched on a higher alcove, watching him with unblinking gold eyes.

He gave the owl a withering glare. Everyone knew that Harry Potter owned an owl like this. Bloody Saint Potter… the owl hooted loudly and bore its large eyes at him, as if reading his thoughts. "What are you looking at, you stupid bird?"

The owl flew down into the alcove his eagle owl had just vacated and hooted again, this time angrily. Draco's mouth twisted in anger. It felt almost therapeutic to be lashing out on Harry's owl when he had not been able to at Harry last night. "Don't think I don't know who your owner is. It's Potter isn't it?" He smirked. "Trust Saint Potter to pick an owl that looks flashy—can you even send mail properly? I bet your name's flashy, too. Wait, I seem to recall hearing it one time…Helga? Holly? Hedwig?" Draco snorted a laugh. "Anyway, it's bound to be a stupid name, what with Potter being stupid…"

"Draco? What are you doing to my owl?"

Draco spun around so quickly his feet kicked up a small cloud of dust and hay from the floor. He could feel his cheeks burn as his eyes found Harry standing by the doorway, a slight frown of confusion on his face.

Harry looked at him without blinking that Draco almost wanted to squirm. "Were you talking to her?"

Draco immediately raised his chin and gave Harry his haughtiest, 'I-could-care-less' look. "Mind your own business, Potter."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "If you hadn't realized, Draco, Hedwig's my owl, and a second ago you were trying to argue with her. That makes it my business." He raised one arm, and the snowy white owl launched itself into the air and landed gracefully on Harry's outstretched arm. The owl hooted softly and gave Harry's ear an affectionate nip. Harry turned his attention to the bird, ruffling its feathers a bit, before he took a small folded note from his robes and tying it to the owl's leg. "Fly safely, Hedwig, alright? You know where to go." Harry's voice was soft and gentle as he stroked his owl's head, who relished the affection by hooting just as gently.

Draco was mesmerized by the way Harry spoke to his owl; he had never heard Harry's voice without the slightest tinge of rancor or coldness before. It sounded like soft velvet caressing his skin, a rich, warm sound that sent his skin tingling. For a moment Draco froze, aghast at what he was thinking. His cheeks burned even hotter, and he felt even angrier at himself now than he was at Harry for showing up unexpectedly.

Suddenly the owl wasn't there anymore, and Draco realized he and Harry were alone. Hedwig had taken flight already, and it irked Draco that he didn't even notice. Damn it, he couldn't afford to lose himself in wayward thoughts like that again…

Draco made to go, but Harry's voice made him stop.

"If you have something to tell me, Draco, you can tell me anytime. You don't have to go throwing your anger out on Hedwig."

"Will you stop calling me that?" Draco's anger flashed in his gray eyes. "You don't have the right to call me 'Draco'."

"Do we always have to end up fighting when we're in the same room?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Get real, Potter. After everything that's happened?"

"I just wanted to talk, not get dragged into an argument with you."

"As if I'd enjoy a conversation with you," Draco sneered. "You can just ask your friend Weasley." He smirked. "Oh I get it. You want to polish your goody-goody image by making me your friend, right? Saint Potter Showers Mercy and Forgiveness on Ex-Death Eater," he said in mock grandiosity, gesturing with one arm. "It has a nice ring to it, Potter, for a _Prophet_ headline."

Harry shook his head and frowned. "It's not like that, Draco."

"No?" Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Are you planning on running for Minister, then? I suppose it could help with your campaign, wouldn't it?"

"Malfoy—"

"Ah, I know," Draco made his voice louder, overriding Harry's, "you just want to make a fool of me again, don't you? Why Potter, isn't it enough that you destroyed my family name and put us in shame? Taking revenge for all those things I did to you and your two little friends?"

"Stop it, I didn't mean to—"

"You know, I didn't think you had it in you, Potter. You would make it far in Slytherin if you keep—"

"Will you shut up and listen to me for once?!" Harry had cut Draco off by grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. Hard. His voice was loud enough that several owls sleeping overhead hooted indignantly before settling back. "Merlin, Draco, do you have to be so stubborn?"

Draco gave him a glare that could have melted stone, but didn't say anything.

Harry gave him a glare of his own. "Well?"

Draco gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "I wouldn't be half as attractive if I wasn't like this, would I?" he asked sarcastically, and the smile melted. "Get your bloody hands off of me."

Harry's face changed for a second into an unreadable expression, before he shook his head and released Draco with a slight push. "Forget it." He wiped a hand across his face and muttered to himself, "I don't know why I let myself be dragged into this…" He turned and walked away, crossing the threshold to the Owlery, shaking his head ruefully and mumbling to himself.

"Wait."

Draco had opened his mouth and held out a hand before he could stop himself. A voice inside his head wished fervently that Harry had not heard, or would simply choose to ignore him, but turn back he did, and watched Draco with a half-wary, half angry expression that made his green eyes smolder.

Draco cleared his throat. "What you said last night…did my Mother really tell you the reason?"

Harry seemed hesitant, but he nodded. "Yes."

Draco could not stop the sigh that escaped his lips, and he turned away from Harry. Why would his mother tell his arch enemy all those things, let alone talk to him in the first place? "Is that why you wanted to talk last night?"

Heavy silence fell upon them. "I…just wanted to clear things up between us, Draco. Make a fresh start, you know. Past is past, and…er, am I making sense here?"

A smile crept up Draco's lips, but Harry wasn't able to see. "You sound positively sappy, you know that Potter?"

Harry made an indignant noise behind him. "I was trying to explain why I'm trying my best to act civil with you, Draco," he said in an almost snappish tone, clearly embarrassed.

"If that's you acting civil, Harry then you'd better start practicing your social skills."

Draco heard a snort behind him. "Yeah right, as if you know—hey hang on, you said my name."

This time Draco turned around. "What?"

"You called me by my name," Harry repeated, sounding quite amazed.

"Fancy that," Draco rolled his eyes. Actually, it _did_ sound better than calling him 'Potter'. "So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Harry's face went slack. "Huh?"

"You said you wanted to talk, didn't you? Breakfast isn't for another hour, and I don't have anything better to do, so talk," Draco gestured at Harry and crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight on one foot.

"You mean right now? But we're in the Owlery."

"So?"

"It's bloody freezing out here, Draco."

Silence. A chilly breeze swept inside the room. "Point taken. Let's just head back to the common room."

They walked back to the tower dormitory together, the tapping sound their feet made on the flagstones the only sound that echoed along the corridors. "You can start talking, now," Draco said after a while.

"Why don't you go first?"

Draco gave Harry a pointed look. "You were the one who wanted to talk, remember? Why should I go first?"

"Our conversation began last night, if you can remember. _You_ were the one who left me alone in the common room."

There was no point arguing about that, so Draco could do nothing but narrow his eyes on Harry. "Fine. And what should I tell you?"

Harry shrugged. "Anything at all, I suppose."

Draco stopped and turned to face Harry. "Is this some kind of a joke, Potter?"

"What? We're supposed to be having a conversation, Draco, not a one-on-one interview. What am I supposed to say? That you should tell me something you don't want to talk about?"

Draco stopped short of giving a caustic remark. "Of course not," he answered after a while. "And I wouldn't tell you even if you _did_ ask."

"See? My point exactly?" huffed Harry. He frowned at Draco. "Don't you talk to your friends about stuff?"

Draco snorted. "You mean Crabbe and Goyle? Do you honestly think they're capable of carrying a decent conversation without suffering a heart attack from the effort?"

Harry succeeded in looking as if he was considering it carefully. "Oh yeah, you're right." For a moment their eyes met, before they erupted in peals of laughter.

When the laughter subsided, Harry was still grinning when he looked at Draco. "So. Starting to enjoy our conversation yet?"

Draco looked at Harry and gave him a half-smile. "Maybe." He changed his face into a dead-serious expression. "Alright. Conversation over; see you at class, Harry." He turned on his heel and walked away without saying another word.

"What? But—?"

"As satisfactory as our short talk was, I still have other things planned for today," Draco explained as he walked, waving a hand behind him. "And really, Potter, I have a reputation to live up to; I can't be seen with a Gryffindor without hexing said student to death."

Harry opened his mouth to call Draco back, but he stopped short of raising an arm in the air and smiled ruefully to himself instead. He didn't really expect Draco to trust him right away. Pocketing his hands for warmth, Harry made his way back to the tower dorm to see if Ron was already awake. Somehow, it wouldn't feel right if Draco had said anything but what he just did.

o0o0o0o

Everyone in Potions class, including Ron and Harry, had divided their attention between Professor Slughorn's lecture and Lors's potion-brewing; the liquid in her cauldron had started to boil rather vigorously and smelled like vinegar. Even Professor Slughorn couldn't help darting quick glances at Lors, who had been given special consideration in Potions. Lors used her time in Potions to study Highly-Advanced Potions and Alchemy, something that had Hermione's eyes grow round as saucers, saying—in a rather breathless voice—that Highly Advanced Potions was a subject three times beyond NEWT levels.

Harry noted though that even if Lors was a genius at Potions, she was only average with Charms, and a bit poor at DADA. This morning, during DADA class with Professor Moody, she was called to cast a Disarming Spell, and ended up drenching Moody in water.

"Blimey, I think she's even worse than Neville was!" Ron whispered to Harry as Lors winced at every sharp word Moody was growling at her, explaining how to cast an _Expelliarmus _spell.

But her worst one by far was Transfiguration. They were supposed to transfigure tomatoes into robins just before lunch. After some difficulty Harry had ended up with a robin, true, but with a bit of stem and a little leaf poking out on top of its head. Draco had ended up with a bird that had a tomato for a body; he looked disgusted with himself and tried several more times before he got it right. Hermione was the only one who ended up with a robin that did not resemble a tomato; Ron's was a tomato that had grown red wings, and tried to flit away from his hands.

Harry was only just trying not to laugh at Ron when a loud shriek rent the air, and half the class ran to one side of the room, leaving a wide space of empty chairs around Lors, who was trying to hold down a…a…

"What the bloomin' hell is that?" someone asked loudly.

Lors was gritting her teeth with the effort of restraining what Harry supposed was her Transfigured tomato, which didn't look like a robin at all. It had a large red tomato for a head, with a large mouth and rows of sharp teeth, making screeching noises as it tried to wriggle free. Its body was smaller than a little child's, and it was clothed in something striped purple and white. It had two arms shaped like slender clubs, and it used these to swat at Lors, who looked to be getting angrier and angrier by the minute.

Professor McGonagall came rushing to the scene as soon as she heard the noise. "What is going on here?" she demanded, and gave a startled yelp at the sight of the creature Lors was trying to contain. "What in Merlin's name do you have there Miss Ingleton?"

"My…tomato…professor," Lors grunted.

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned into a line. She waved her wand in a long, intricate movement, and the creature disappeared with a pop. Lors stood up dusting her robes and wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Whew. I didn't think I would change that bloody fruit into a _nightshade_…" She looked up, and fell silent at the look on McGonagall's face.

But now, in Potions, Lors was in her element. Harry had immediately noted the way she brightened up the moment they started off for the dungeon. Harry had also noticed the way Draco's face soured when he read their class time tables and saw Potions as the last class of the day; he had been Snape's favorite student, but he was not on Slughorn's top list. And obviously never will be, after everyone's learned Draco had been a Death Eater.

After introductions, Slughorn delightedly told the class about Lors's special condition, and set her to a table near his desk, telling her to continue whatever it was she was doing. Harry recognized the bottle of potion Lors took out of her bag and presented to Slughorn. When she explained what it was, Slughorn's eyes grew almost as wide as Hermione's.

"My girl," he began, his mouth open, "do you realize what this could mean? The _possibilities_?"

"Well…er, it's not really finished yet," Lors stammered, her face slightly red. "I still need to brew it again and mix a few more items in before I can test it."

"Then brew away, Miss Ingleton, please!" Professor Slughorn beamed proudly at her. "Do that while I start the class, won't you?"

Ron, who shared the table at the back of the room with Harry, nudged him on the ribs. "Are you alright, mate?"

"'Course I am," Harry replied, slightly confused. He pretended to be writing something in his notebook before adding, "Why?"

Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see Ron shrug. "I don't know mate, it just seems you were a bit out of it during breakfast. You kept looking at Malfoy." He turned his head towards Harry. "Did something happen while I was asleep? You two weren't there when I woke up."

Harry tried to appear as casually as he could. "Nothing happened." He darted a glance at Ron. "I was just thinking. About what Hermione said, I mean."

"Uh, what _did_ 'Mione say?"

"Well…" Harry knew that talking about Malfoy might make Ron blow his top off, but he had to try. "You remember when we first arrived here? When she said Malfoy was trying to change, and that we should forgive him?"

Harry could almost feel the air grow tense as Ron froze in his seat, his face uncharacteristically blank. "Yeah?"

"I…I kind of agree with her."

"You WHAT?"

"Something the matter back there, Mister Weasley, Mister Potter?"

Harry turned and forced himself to smile. "It's nothing, Professor. My friend Ron just saw a…a spider. Yeah, a spider. Pretty big, actually, and it—well, it startled him."

Hermione, who shared a table with Draco beside them, frowned questioningly at Harry, who gave the slightest shake of his head. Draco was watching them, one eyebrow slightly raised. Harry gave him a shake of the head, too.

Professor Slughorn did not look entirely convinced, but he accepted Harry's lie just the same and continued his lecture. Harry sat back on his seat with a relieved sigh. "Keep your voice down next time, Ron."

Ron's ears were completely red by this time, and his cheeks tinted with anger. "You shouldn't mention _Malfoy_ next time, then," he hissed. "What's gotten into you, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped. It didn't seem right to tell Ron that he was doing this because it's the right thing; Harry knew it was not the complete truth. Ron watched him with an angry frown. Harry tried to think.

What _has_ gotten into him?

o0o0o0o

Draco silently followed Harry and his friends as they all walked up to the tower dorm to drop their bags and join the students below for dinner. He could definitely feel the tension between Harry and Weasley; even Granger could sense it, watching both of them carefully in silence. Lors seemed the only one oblivious to the situation, and was happily cradling the bottle of her potion in her arm.

For a moment Draco shifted his attention to Lors and eyed the bottle warily. Draco didn't know why, but somehow that potion did not bode well with him at all.

As they passed a long stretch of corridor on the third floor, Draco still watching Harry and his friends from behind, a hand stretched out from under one of the wall hangings and pulled Draco in. The Malfoy heir barely had time to yelp, because a hand had covered his mouth immediately, and a sharp prodding in his side told Draco someone had pointed a wand at him.

"We've got 'im," said a gruff voice, definitely male.

"I didn't think our plan would work," said another voice. This one sounded more impish, and ended with a small chuckle.

"So what should we do with him now?" This one was a girl's voice.

Draco looked around, trying to see in the darkness. As far as he could tell, this was one of the hidden passageways in the castle, one that he didn't knew existed. He tried to remember clearly and thought that the wall hanging outside was the one with the group of witches dancing around a silver cauldron. And if the silence was any indication, the others hadn't noticed what happened.

"_Lumos_," the impish voice said, and the passageway was revealed to be two spans wide and three wide, all dressed in worn stone. Draco blinked. A large student was holding his arms to his side and covering his mouth, while a tall, thin girl with long corn-colored hair had her wand under his ribs. The owner of the impish voice holding the lighted wand was of medium height, with brown hair and freckles across his nose, his eyes bright and slanted.

Draco tried to struggle, but it was like trying to wriggle out from under a boulder. Gray eyes smoldering in anger, he tried to shake his head to free his mouth, all the while cursing and screaming. The muffled noises he made only made the girl and the impish boy grin.

"He isn't so intimidating when he's all helpless like this, is he?" he said delightedly.

The girl smirked. "My mother said all the Malfoys are trash." She looked at Draco in the eye and added coolly, "They deserve everything they got. Too bad they're not in Azkaban."

The great lump of lard holding Draco down shifted slightly. "Didn't they get free because they saved Potter's life?"

"I bet they did it to save their own skins," snorted the imp. "They know Harry Potter isn't a cold-hearted murderer like them." He pointed his own wand at Draco's throat. "So what can you say for yourself, Malfoy? Try to shout and I'll blow your neck apart."

Draco's mouth was released, and even though he was sorely tempted to scream for help, Draco did not want to test the imp's threat to see if he would be able to do what he said he would. Instead he mustered up the coldest, sharpest glare he could and directed it at the imp and the girl. "What the bloody hell do you want from me?"

"Oh, nothing much," the girl smiled nastily. "Just revenge."

"I don't even know you."

"That's it, isn't it?" the imp said, scowling at him. "You don't know us; your evil git of a father didn't know our parents, but you killed my Dad! Oh, don't you remember?" he smiled evily, prodding the wand deep into Draco's throat he almost choked. "Your little attack on the Muggle minister cost my father his life! But I guess you wouldn't realize that, because you've killed a whole lot of people, haven't you?"

"My parents, too," the girl added savagely, her face contorted in anger. "Do you know what it feels like to come home and strangers telling you your parents are dead?!"

Draco gasped as the grip around his arms tightened. "My uncle William, too," growled the boy holding him.

Draco felt a trickle of fear for the first time since this whole ordeal. As he looked as their eyes, filled with such hate and anger, he knew without a doubt that they were ready to kill him, and that even though he wasn't the one who had killed their loved ones, they did not care, because he was a Death Eater in their eyes, and it was all that mattered.

The wand in his throat dug against his skin harder, and Draco closed his eyes, not knowing what to say in his defense. How could he tell them he was terribly sorry, or that he was innocent? He had seen the same expression on the Wizengamot the day his family was accused, and they did not listen to his mother's pleas. He doubt that these three students would.

His ears heard the rustle of fabric, startled yelps, and felt the arms trapping him in place loosen. Somebody was shaking him by the shoulders.

"Oi, Draco. Are you hurt?"

Draco opened his eyes and blinked several times. There were more wands lighted now. More than three. "Potter?"

He heard a relieved sigh escape Harry's lips. "Good. He's not Confunded." He turned, and Draco saw that Weasley, Granger, and Lors were there, too, their wands lighted. The three students who had grabbed him were all standing on one side, their faces ranging from pure hatred for him to worried glances in Harry's direction.

Draco stepped back from Harry's grip, and the former Gryffindor watched him wearily as Draco tried to stand on his own. The weakness in his legs had lessened, and although he swayed, Draco remained upright.

"Is he alright, Harry?" Granger sounded genuinely worried, and she walked up to Draco and cast a spell he did not recognize. "Well, he doesn't seem to be cursed."

Harry had turned his attention to the three unknown students. The large one wore Hufflepuffs yellow, while the other two wore Ravenclaw blue. "What were you planning to do?" Harry asked coldly, his face blank.

Harry wasn't pointing his wand at them, but the three students flinched as if he had. The girl started babbling apologies, saying they weren't really planning on hurting anyone. The large one remained silent, only nodding his head, but the impish boy's face was twisted into a snarl. "What were we planning? We wanted to kill that…that git!" He pointed a finger harshly at Draco, who stood still, watching with his face smooth as stone.

Lors and Ron were already at Harry's side, watching the three students. Ron's mouth twisted. "You want to kill him? And what, become a criminal, too? Don't be such a woolhead."

"Why would you want to kill him, anyway?" Lors asked.

This question seemed to trigger a deep hatred long-hidden inside the short boy, and he diverted his slanted eyes at Lors, anger flickering and flashing in his face. "Draco Malfoy is a _Death Eater_!" he screamed, and his voice echoed in the passageway. "His stinking parents were Death Eaters! They all deserve to die, because they killed everyone we cared for."

"Revenge won't bring them back!" Lors yelled back. She shoved a finger at the boy's chest. "You're an idiot if you think killing Draco would do you much good."

"I DON"T CARE!" the boy was screaming almost hysterically now, the nerves on his neck taut from his yells. "I want him dead!" His hands suddenly grabbed the potion bottle in Lors's arm and threw it in Draco's face.

Everything happened so fast, but Draco followed the bottle as it sailed through the air, tumbling end over end, its contents swishing violently inside the thin glass. He knew he should duck; he had absolutely no idea what it would do, and he might even end up exploding to pieces. But the twisted and angry face of the impish kid, the smirk of hatred from the Ravenclaw girl and the Hufflepuff student bloomed in his mind. Draco decided to stay still and be done with it. He didn't know what else he could do to stop them from hating him.

Suddenly Harry's face loomed over him, there was the sound of breaking glass, and the next thing he knew his vision was filled with dark purple smoke.

Draco instinctively covered his nose with a hand; his eyes watered and stung, and he coughed violently, lungs desperate for clean air. Someone grabbed his hand and pulled him out into the third floor corridor. He turned back and saw Weasley helping Granger out. Lors was right beside him, gulping huge a lungful of air.

"This—can't—be good," she wheezed, bending over to place her hands on her knees. "The entire bottle was dumped on Harry."

Ron coughed and waved a hand through the air to clear it. "What was it, anyway?"

"Where are they?" Hermione asked. Draco looked around.

"They've probably run," he answered. He looked at Lors. "What potion did you make?"

Lors looked uncomfortable. "Well…it was supposed to turn inanimate objects into animals. I bottled a Transfiguration spell, see…"

The smoke was already clearing up. All three heads turned to the wall hanging that hid the passageway. Thin streams of smoke still escaped underneath. Draco cleared his throat. "I guess we should go and collect Potter, then."

A thin, wailing sound made them stop.

Ron frowned, pointing his wand. "What was that?"

They waited with baited breath, each one's imagination running wild at what could have happened to Harry. Five seconds passed by in silence. Then fifteen. Twenty.

The wall hanging shivered as something tried to push it away. Something quite small. Ron lowered his wand as a kitten slightly larger than one hand padded its way out, dragging a deep yellow and scarlet tie wound around its neck. When it got past the wall hanging it stopped, mewled again in a slightly higher pitch, and stared at them.

The kitten was black all over except for a curious white lightning-shaped mark on its forehead, with thick fur, and the deepest green eyes. It sniffed at the air tentatively before sitting down and started licking its left front paw.

Ron's mouth hung open. Hermione stared at the kitten with wide-eyed shock. Draco was too stunned he couldn't speak. Only Lors made any sort of movement at all as she crouched low and tilted her head at the kitten. "Harry?"

The kitten stopped licking its paw at the sound and looked at Lors. "Meow."

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 3._

_Next: Chapter 4 – Purr for Me_

_I'm sorry guys, I can't give a sneak peek summary for this one; it might kill the thrill, so to speak. Just use the title for a clue, eh? The next chapter would probably end up having several parts (around two or three), so it might take a while to upload._


	4. Purr for Me

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Please read and review afterwards._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 4 – Purr For Me**

Lors's voice seemed to shake everyone else back to the present. Hermione was the first to break the silence. "Is that…Harry?"

Lors fingered the tie around the kitten's neck. "It seems so."

Ron frowned at the kitten. He walked back inside the passageway and came back later with a bundle of clothes in his arms. "Yeah. That's Harry."

Hermione crouched down beside Lors, who kept watching the kitten, now making playful swipes at the tie. "Can he understand us?"

Lors frowned. "I don't think so."

"Here, let me try," Ron offered, and kneeled down right next to the black kitten, who stepped back warily, its hackles starting to rise. "Harry, mate, it's me." He reached out to touch the kitten by the ears.

The kitten watched Ron's fingers, hissing, then swiped at him with sharp claws. Ron stumbled back with a loud yelp, thin lines of blood appearing on his skin.

Hermione looked over Ron's hand as Lors tilted her head at the kitten that was Harry Potter only a few seconds ago. "I guess that proves he doesn't recognize anyone."

Hermione looked up from tending Ron, pocketing her wand. "Don't you have a potion or a bottled spell that could turn Harry back?"

Lors warily tried to scratch the kitten behind the ears, and withdrew her hand quickly when the kitten tried to swipe her finger away, too, before it returned to playing with the tie still tied around its neck. "The problem with the potion that turned Harry is that it was originally meant to be used for inanimate things. Not people."

Draco thought it was about time he got in on the conversation. "So that means you would have to study all the ingredients you used for the potion and start from there," he said. Lors turned to him and nodded grimly. Draco frowned. "But that could take days. Weeks, even."

Lors groaned. "I know."

"But what about Harry?" Ron asked. Hermione was biting her lower lip worriedly, glancing at the small black cat. It was now curling into a small fluffy ball on the floor to sleep.

Lors winced. "Well…we can hide him for a while…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "And what do you suppose people will think? You're not just hiding a potion accident here. If you haven't noticed, your potion just turned _Harry Potter_ into a kitten. If Harry suddenly disappears from class people will start to talk. Before you know it rumors will spread, and Merlin knows how that could end up."

"Hang on, are you saying this is my fault?" Lors's tone carried an audible warning.

"I never said it," Draco bit back. "But think of what this might lead to if we hid what happened."

Hermione had newfound respect for Draco's profound insight into the problem. She hadn't even thought of it that way, yet. "He's right. We should report this to the headmistress at once."

Ron made a face. "We'll be loosing points because of this for sure."

"Ronald, we're not in Gryffindor anymore, remember?" Hermione said flatly.

Ron's face cleared. "Oh yeah."

Hermione sighed. She tried to pick up the kitten, but it only raised its hackles again and hissed angrily at her. "The kitten doesn't seem to like me."

"It seems to hate anyone wanting to touch it," Lors agreed.

In the end they agreed to use a _Wingardium_ spell to carry the kitten up to the headmistress's office.

When they arrived, they had expected McGonagall's stern, thin-lipped look, but not the ready acceptance of what happened. She listened patiently to their explanation of events, and only interrupted them when she asked one question.

"Mister Malfoy, did you recognize any of the students who attacked you?" she asked, looking directly at him, her face betraying nothing.

Draco stiffened. "No."

The headmistress seemed to be studying his face, and for a moment Draco thought she saw sympathy in her eyes before she turned back to the other three. The kitten, Draco saw, was trying to claw at one of the legs on McGonagall's table. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention to it.

Finally McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well, it seems quite clear that the entire matter was an accident. However, I expect more careful safekeeping of your potions, Miss Ingleton." Lors nodded, looking thoroughly abashed. "The students you have described would most probably be first years, and will be given punishment as I see fit."

Hermione frowned. "First years?"

McGonagall darted a quick glance at Draco before nodding. "Yes. Many of the new students have lost a family member to the Death Eaters' sudden attacks last year."

Silence followed this remark. Draco felt such a surge of shame he wanted to sink into the floor and vanish. But the Malfoy in him did not let him; instead he clenched his fists and forced himself to remain unaffected. The kitten had stopped scratching away at the table and had its ears pricked up. Hermione was lost in her own thought, and Lors was looking down at the floor. Ron shifted his footing, and suddenly blurted out, "But what are we going to do about Harry, professor?"

"I will talk to Professor Slughorn tomorrow about the matter. Miss Ingleton will have to be involved, of course, because it was her potion."

"And the kitten?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"You will have to take care of Harry while he is in this…state," Professor McGonagall said.

"But professor," Ron interrupted, "the cat hates anyone who touches it." He raised his scratched hand as if for proof. "It won't even let us carry it up here."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Oh? All of you?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, professor. It seems Harry hasn't retained his human conscience when he became a cat. He didn't recognize us."

"Are you saying, Miss Granger, that he turned into a cat—_truly_ turned into one?"

"I think so."

"And what about you, Miss Ingleton?"

"I would have to agree, headmistress," Lors replied. "You see, the potion was supposed to turn objects into animals. Come to think of it," she added, "Harry would probably have no memory of whatever happened if we manage to turn him back…"

As the discussion turned into more technical matters Draco's attention wore off, and his eyes began to roam. Almost at once he spotted the black kitten staring at him with unblinking green eyes.

Draco stared right back, arching one eyebrow delicately. The kitten tilted its head and mewled once, before padding over to him. The kitten sniffed at his shoes and looked up at him again before sitting upright.

Draco's curious expression became a frown. _Why is this stupid cat staring at me?_ He nudged it with the tip of his left shoe. The kitten shifted sideways, and ended a bit further left of Draco. But it only stood up again and settled down in front of Draco, in between his feet.

Draco nudged it again, a bit harder this time. The kitten toppled over and seemed to glare at him with green eyes. It meowed once, before returning to its original position: sitting upright in front of Draco.

Draco was now glaring at it. He took a step back, and the kitten followed. Draco could feel a nerve twitch in his temple. He was starting to consider kicking the kitten away when it began circling one of his legs, rubbing its head against his ankle. The scowl on Draco's face slowly melted; the kitten was now mewling softly, alternating between rubbing its head against him and looking up with large liquid eyes.

Draco sighed inwardly, and bent to pick up the kitten by the scruff of its neck. The kitten did not even flinch as Draco lifted it up until it was level with his face. Draco narrowed his eyes at the offending cat. "What are you up to?" he asked suspiciously, his tone a barely-heard whisper. The cat only lifted its right paw and began to lick and rub it over its ear.

_He doesn't look too bad…for a cat._ Draco shifted his hands, lifting the kitten up under its forearms. It was black all over except for the white marking on its forehead, its long fur surprisingly soft and warm. Draco actually couldn't resist wriggling his fingers into its small body. The kitten seemed to like this, and mewled happily at Draco.

A small smile tugged at Draco's lips. Carrying the kitten in one hand, he scratched it behind the ears, and was rewarded with a very contended-looking kitten, its eyes half closed and settled comfortably in his hand.

"I think I have the solution to our small problem."

Draco looked up, his eyes widening slightly. Everyone in the room was staring at him and the kitten in his hands. It took a moment for McGonagall's words to sink in.

The headmistress nodded to herself and even smiled in satisfaction. "Mister Malfoy can take care of the kitten while Professor Slughorn and Miss Ingleton mix up a potion to turn Harry Potter back to normal. I believe there are no objections to this?"

All the others were shaking their heads, knowing how to recognize a veiled warning when they hear it. But McGonagall was looking right at Draco, her arched eyebrow and half-smile daring him to argue.

o0o0o0o

Hermione frowned at Draco's back as they walked back to the tower dormitory. "I don't understand it. Why Draco?"

Lors, who was walking beside Hermione and Ron, turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"

Hermione pointed a finger accusingly at Draco. "Look at him! He doesn't even care if Harry gets lost following him like that." Lors followed Hermione's finger; Draco was several paces away, well out of earshot, with Harry a few feet behind him. Lors noted that Draco was walking at a leisurely pace, and Harry had no difficulty following him. She frowned at Hermione.

"He doesn't seem to be doing anything wrong to me."

"But—but the headmistress said he would take care of Harry!" Hermione answered in a half-wail. Lors was quite taken aback; she hadn't expected this sort of reaction from Hermione.

"Erm…" Lors could see Hermione's point…sort of. When the headmistress all but ordered Draco to be responsible for Harry while he was a kitten, he had put down Harry and tried his best to ignore it. "…wouldn't not harming Harry count as taking care of him?"

"But he's a _kitten!_"

"Oh, let him be, 'Mione," Ron patted her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. "As long as Harry's fine you shouldn't have to worry."

Hermione rounded on him then, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him. "You! What're you up to, Ronald?"

"Who, me? What are you talking about?"

"You hate Draco Malfoy," Hermione said without preamble. She drove a finger into his chest. "I expected you to react violently at Professor McGonagall's decision, but you just shook your head and accepted! You _accepted!"_

Ron shrugged. "So?"

Hermione's face slackened for a second. She stepped away from Ron and crossed her arms. "Alright. Who are you and what did you do to my boyfriend?"

Ron laughed. "You want to know why I'm not angry right now?"

"Hmph," was Hermione's expressive answer.

"Just watch," Ron answered with a mischievous smirk, and nodded his head towards Draco.

They were already at the foot of the winding stairs that leads to their shared dormitories. Hermione saw Draco go up a few steps and stop, turning his head. Harry was mewling loudly at him, his front paws barely reaching the next step. Draco's face turned into an annoyed glare as he watched Harry try, without much success, to climb up the steps. With a resigned huff he grabbed Harry by the scuff of his neck, taking great care to lift him at arm's length, before ascending the stairs.

Ron chuckled beside her as Draco disappeared from view. "See? If taking care of Harry as a kitten makes Draco miserable, then I'm quite content."

Hermione's indignation was quickly replaced by exasperation. She shook her head. "Oh Ron…"

Lors tilted her head. "You know Ron, you're quite mean. An idiot, but mean."

Ron stuck out his chest proudly at the remark, completely missing the implied insult. "Thanks."

Hermione only sighed.

o0o0o0o

They had late dinner in the common room, including Harry, who had been given a plate of cream left by one of the house elves. They ate silently, occasionally darting glances at Harry as he lapped at the cream with gusto.

While the others were only halfway finished, Draco stood up abruptly. "Excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Three heads looked up. "What about Harry?" Hermione asked.

Draco had to struggle to keep his face smooth. "I'll leave him here."

Hermione scowled. "You can't just leave him alone, Draco. Where would he sleep?"

"The rug, maybe?" Draco drawled out the suggestion. Hermione's scowl deepened. Surprisingly, Weasley didn't even budge from shoveling food into his mouth. Lors only watched. Annoyed at not being successful in eliciting a violent reaction, Draco snapped, "Fine. I'll take him up to his bed, then. Happy?" He took Harry in both hands and stormed out the common room before anyone could say anything, slamming the door for good measure. He glared at the kitten in his hands.

"McGonagall only said to take care of you, not become your babysitter. So don't expect any treats from me, understand?"

Harry only licked at his front paws smeared with cream and gave happy little mewls.

Draco's angry stare melted away, to be replaced by a slack, disbelieving expression. All this time, he had harbored a suspicion that underneath the fur and whiskers, Harry was still there, acting like an innocent kitten just to make him miserable. But seeing the kitten lick at its paws and look genuinely happy… "You really are a kitten, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry did not reply, only continued licking at the cream, one ear flicking the air in its delight. Draco stared at Harry for a while, watching him clean his little paws, before sighing. He gingerly placed the kitten on his shoulder.

Craning his neck to look at him, he said in a warning tone, "Don't expect me to carry you everywhere. This is a first-time kind of thing, and I honestly don't want cat hair all over my robes, so don't get too comfortable." The kitten clung onto Draco's shoulder, its claws digging into the fabric of the thick school robes. When Draco felt Harry was securely perched on his shoulder, he began to climb the stairs.

Draco talked in the silence. "Because of all the commotion I haven't been able to thank you for…well, for rescuing me." He darted a quick glance at the kitten who was sniffing the air and looking everywhere but at him. "So…um, thank you." There. Now he wouldn't be put through the humiliating experience of thanking Harry in person since, technically, he _was_ talking to Harry, although Harry could not understand him in his current state.

"Oh yes, since you are going to be a burden to my existence for a little while, it's best if I lay down some rules about what you can't do while you're a cat under my supervision," Draco continued in a business-like manner. "Most important of all, I do not want hairballs all over my bed, on my things, or on the floor." He paused. "You can cough up all the hairballs you want, but only on Weasley's bed."

Harry only mewled in response.

Draco nodded. "Right. And I don't want you putting scratch marks on anything I own, or on me." He gave the kitten on his shoulder a stern look. "Especially on me. Do that and I'll hex you 'till kingdom come, Harry Potter or not."

Once inside the room he shared with Harry and Weasley, Draco took the kitten and put it down on Harry's bed. "This is where you'll be staying until you're back to normal. I don't want you anywhere _near_ me, understood?"

Harry tilted his head at Draco, his dark green cat eyes staring blankly at him. "Meow?"

Draco left Harry there and went over to his own bed, meaning to get some homework done before he settled to sleep. He would have wanted to study down in the common room, but knowing the others were there only made the idea unpleasant for Draco. Taking out his Transfiguration textbook, he sat back on his pillows and began to read.

Their assignment for Transfiguration was to write an essay about their latest attempt at turning vegetables into birds. Draco frowned at the memory of his tomato and the several attempts it took for him to turn it into a robin. He had always been average on Transfiguration and never worried about it, but being in the same class as Granger, who had successfully transfigured her tomato on the first try, made him feel as if he ought to do better.

What was worse were the sniggers and evil smirks he had been getting from everyone since the start of term.

Draco gritted his teeth; he had expected this sort of reaction, after all. But imagining and experiencing the real thing were completely different things. For one, their hate was almost palpable, like waves of stifling heat, and it kept nagging at Draco everywhere he went. He had to exercise all his self-control just to stop from looking behind his back every time he turned a corner! It was almost impossible to concentrate on lessons, and for the first time in his life Draco felt uncomfortable being in a room with other people. It was unnerving, as if the ground suddenly shifted under his feet, and Draco couldn't keep his balance.

Waves of deep shame crumbled Draco's self-control and ingrained Malfoy pride, so much so that he wanted to weep. He had never thought he would be brought down this low just by being glared and sneered at. Was this what people felt when he was the one doing all the glaring and sneering?

And those first years…Draco shuddered to remember their faces, all marred by anger and pain. They had lost loved ones because of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters…and because Draco had been one of them, they had decided to put the blame on him and exact revenge by trying to kill him. Draco pulled the sleeve of his left arm, staring at pale, unblemished skin. Was it such a waste to remove the Mark after all, when people still see him as a Death Eater?

"It isn't worth much, all things considered," his mother had agreed in a gentle voice, when Draco had asked. "But to us it means so much more. Other people can never understand what we have been through, my son, being under the Dark Lord's power. Removing the Mark means we are severing ties to the life of fear we have always lived under his rule."

"But people would never believe we've changed, Mother!" Draco had protested.

His mother smiled gently then, the last smile he'd ever seen on her face. "Do you really believe that?"

For a moment Harry's face appeared in Draco's mind, and he stopped, the words he meant to say dying on his lips. His mother's smile grew, as if reading his thoughts.

"There is still hope for us, Draco. We must endure this, to prove that we are not what others think we are." She patted his cheek fondly. "Besides, they will forget, eventually."

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, someone I had met not too long ago," his mother answered mysteriously.

Draco sighed at the remembrance. It was the look of unshakable belief in this hope, shining in his mother's eyes that spurred Draco to decide to come back to Hogwarts and finish his schooling. He did not really believe the wizarding world would accept them so willingly, but he would do his best, just to make his mother smile again.

The feel of something warm and wet touching his hand made Draco yelp and almost fall of the bed.

He looked down at his hand and gaped. "What the hell?" Harry was there on the bed, curiously sniffing at his fingers. With a growl Draco lifted him up under his forearms and shook him gently. "Don't you know the meaning of privacy, Harry?"

The kitten meowed loudly and made playful swipes at Draco. Draco scowled. He took the kitten and put him down on Harry's bed. He pointed sternly at it. "Stay here. Got that? _Here_." He stormed off into his own bed and returned to his Transfiguration textbook.

A few minutes later Draco saw Harry climbing down his bed, tumbling into the carpeted floor when he lost his grip on the mattress. He watched as Harry got himself up and shook his entire body, before padding over to Draco's bed and climbing up the mattress, using its claws for a better grip.

Harry meowed again when he reached the surface of the bed, wobbling slightly as he walked over to Draco. He sat in front of Draco's outstretched legs. Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you want now?"

Seeming to take this as an invitation, the kitten walked up to Draco until he was near the pillows. "Meow," Harry said, rubbing his head against Draco's hip.

Draco snorted. "Sorry, Harry, but I don't cuddle with cats."

"Meow."

Draco averted his eyes to his book, laid open on his lap. "Go away, Harry."

The kitten stood up on its hind legs, resting its front paws on Draco's lap, almost touching the edge of the book. He meowed again, this time more gently. Draco could almost swear it was trying to say 'please'.

"No," Draco said in a very stern voice. He darted a quick glance at the kitten, who was staring at him with large, liquid eyes of deep jade. He was nudging his nose against Draco.

Draco made an irritated noise against his throat and put away the book. The kitten crawled into Draco's lap without further ado and curled up into a ball, mewling happily. Draco scowled at Harry. "You're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you do this again."

The kitten only swished its small tail, one ear twitching. With a resigned sigh Draco scratched the kitten behind its ears. Draco tried to think to give him something to do, but soon the feel of warm fur under his fingers and the kitten's soft purrs of contentment made Draco feel quite drowsy. Soon his eyes felt too heavy to lift. He eyed his open bag sitting beside the bed. Maybe he could work on his assignment early next morning.

Yawning, Draco lifted Harry up and set him down on the carpet. "Go back to your own bed, Harry. I'm too sleepy to carry you over there." Draco turned on his side and settled into his pillows, his body easing into sleep.

Draco was already drifting off when he felt a small paw on his cheek. He opened an eye. Harry was on the pillow beside him, one paw trying to shake him awake. "Meow."

Draco groaned. "Go to bed, Harry." He shut his eyes close and tried to ignore the kitten, but after a few moments he opened his eyes a peek.

The kitten was, indeed, trying to go to sleep, but he seemed to want to sleep on the bed with him. He sniffed at the empty space beside Draco, but turned back to the pillow. He began sniffing at Draco's face, and the next thing Draco knew the kitten was licking at his neck.

"Oi!" Draco sat up quickly, feeling heat spread through his cheeks. For a wild moment the image of Harry licking at Draco's neck—in _human form_—flashed through his mind, and Draco's sleepiness was wiped away to be replaced by alarm. He glared murderously at the kitten. "You little…argh!" He covered his face with his hands. "If only I could strangle you to death right now, Potter!"

Harry only meowed again, this time accompanied by a swishing little tail. When Draco settled down to sleep again, he curled up right against Draco's chest and remained still. Draco opened his mouth to argue, his hand already reaching out to put Harry down on the floor, when he stopped, biting his lower lip.

After a few seconds Draco made an irritated noise against his throat, and pulled the drapes of his four-poster bed close before lying down to sleep, Harry curled up beside him.

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 4._

_Next: Chapter 5 - Letters from the Past._

_Author's notes: And because you're all so good and give me reviews, here's a little portion of Chapter 5 for you to read!_

_Draco stopped in front of a store he had never really quite taken notice of before; visits to Hogsmeade had always been a bore to him, specially since Crabbe and Goyle only wanted to go visit Honeydukes' to re-supply their stock of sweets. He pressed a hand against the cool glass of the display window._

_It was a shop that sold trinkets and knick-knacks, the kind where you can find real, authentic gems and cheap cut glass all mixed together. There were bracelets and bangles on display in neat little rows, along with necklaces, rings, and even tie pins. Draco stepped back. The store was small, tucked away in a corner of the street the students seldom walked past, but it was neatly kept, its paint fresh. Draco went inside._

_The shopkeeper was an old woman with hair so white and wispy it looked like a cloud had settled on her head. She welcomed Draco in with a smile. "What can I do for you, young man?"_

_Draco looked around the shop. "I was just browsing."_

_"Oh, take your time, dear." The old woman sat behind the register and began browsing an old issue of _Witch Weekly's

_Draco looked at the items displayed on shelves inside the shop. There were unusual items here, too. Draco fingered a little silver coronet and a large frilly pink ribbon. A glint of green caught his eye, and Draco took the item to the shopkeeper. "How much for this one?"_

_The old woman looked over the magazine. Draco held out a black velvet choker with a square cut emerald gem the size of her fingernail, set in silver. She smiled at Draco. "It's an antique, but I can part with it for fifteen Galleons."_

_Draco took out the money from his robes. "Here. Don't bother to wrap it for me." He pocketed the choker and turned to leave._

_"If you don't mind me asking, is it for your sweetheart?"_

_Draco turned to the old woman, but in his mind he saw eyes the color of emerald. "No. It's for my cat," he said, and left. -- end of preview._


	5. Letters from the Past

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's Notes: This is where the rating for the story…escalates. From zero to somewhere around six out of ten on the M rating. Like I said before, this is a yaoi-flavored story, which means it contains male/male relationships. If you do not like steamy snogging scenes, especially steamy snogging scenes between two men, OR you've read my other HP fics and you don't like them, please hit the back button and spare your sanity. Otherwise…_

_Please read and review afterwards._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 5 – Letters from the Past**

Draco stared absently at his breakfast, prodding the toast on his plate with a fork. He would sometimes flush slightly pink and take a swig of pumpkin juice, but he always returned to his almost catatonic state, staring at his plate. Hermione noticed, and she nudged Ron, who was sitting beside her.

She kept her voice low. "Ron, what happened to Draco?"

Ron stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. He took one look at Draco and smirked. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Hermione gave him a confused frown.

"He woke up to find Harry sleeping on his bed," Ron began in a snigger, "and with cat hair all over his sheets."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "What did he do with Harry?"

"'Course he can't do anything," Ron replied, taking a deep drink out of his goblet before adding, "I told him he had to expect that sort of thing, having to take care of a cat. He only glared at me. He's been like that ever since."

Hermione studied Ron's delighted expression, and narrowed her eyes. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Seeing Malfoy tortured like this? Are you kidding?" Ron's face turned blissful. "It's like a dream come true."

Hermione shook her head at Ron, turning to glance at Draco. She noticed he was now frowning at his plate, his cheeks alternating between flushes of pink to pale gray. He definitely looked angry, but she did not think it was about Harry ruining his morning. Or maybe it wasn't just that? She frowned, taking a bite of her toast. It wouldn't do any harm to wait and see for now, she decided.

Someone flopped down heavily on the seat in front of her, and she looked up to see that it was Lors, looking very tired, with dark circles around her eyes. "What in Merlin's name happened to you?"

Lors broke into a jaw-creaking yawn, resting her head on the table. "Professor Slughorn had me making that bloody potion last night," she groaned. "I had to wait until it had finished stewing before I could go to sleep."

Ron turned to her. "So? How'd it go?"

Lors yawned again, turning her bleary eyes at Ron. "Good. But Slughorn says he needs to study the potion for at least three days before he could figure out what to do next." She groaned again. "But because I added ingredients he didn't recognize, I have to do it with him. For the next three nights."

Hermione gave Lors a look of sympathy. "We could help, if you'd like."

Lors brightened up considerably. "Really? Will you do all my homework, then? Except Potions, of course."

Hermione scowled. "I didn't mean that kind of help, Lors."

"Ah well," Lors shrugged, yawning again. "It can't hurt to try." She reached for the stack of toast and began buttering it. "So how's Harry?" She looked at Draco, who seemed to have snapped out of his trance.

"He's fine," he answered curtly. "I left him in the dormitory."

"Does he have food?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"No." Draco looked up to see Hermione look at him with an eyebrow raised. Gritting his teeth, he added, "I'll bring him something later." Hermione's face had turned into a scowl; Lors was studying him with a blank expression. Even Weasley was looking at him now. "Fine!" he snapped, grabbing his bag. "I'll bring up his breakfast _now._ Merlin knows we can't have a kitten starving to death!" he added sarcastically. He left, fuming, three pairs of eyes following him as he disappeared.

"What's eating him?" Lors asked no one in particular.

Hermione sighed. "I knew it was a bad idea from the start. I mean, you can't even have Draco and Harry in the same room without someone getting sent to the Hospital Wing! And now Draco's supposed to be responsible for Harry while he's a cat?"

Ron swallowed his bacon before belching loudly. Lors frowned at him in disgust, but he hardly noticed her. "Hang on, why are you calling him Draco now?"

"Why not?" Lors countered. "Doesn't it confuse you when we're talking about him and his father? And calling him Malfoy makes it feel like he's…well, alien to us. It doesn't feel right."

"But he's _Malfoy!"_

"Does it even matter?" Hermione snapped at Ron, her irritation getting the best of her. "What we need to concern ourselves with right now is getting Harry back to normal."

"And what about Mal—oh alright, _Draco_," Ron conceded with a huff when Lors looked at him, "what about Draco and the fact that he might be torturing Harry right now?"

"I didn't say he's hurting Harry," Hermione answered defensively. "I just think it might not be such a good idea to make Draco responsible for him."

"Who's going to take care of Harry then?" asked Ron.

"Well…we could do it…"

Ron sighed. "'Mione, Harry doesn't even recognize us. He'd claw us half to death if we even try to touch him. Besides, Draco owes this to Harry."

"Why?"

"Draco should've been hit by that potion, right? But Harry got in the way," Ron explained. "Too bad Malfoy's all hyped up about his stupid pride to admit it, but I think it's the reason why he didn't complain when McGonagall told him to keep an eye on Harry."

Hermione frowned, pondering. "Maybe you're right," she conceded after a while.

"Wow," Lors breathed, looking quite astounded. "You thought of all that, Ron? Are you alright?"

"Hey," Ron sounded offended. "I might be stupid at times, but I'm not a flobberworm."

Lors raised her hands in a gesture, her many-colored rings flashing. "Alright, I stand corrected then."

"You mean all along you thought I was as stupid as a flobberworm?!"

"Ah, no. More stupid than that, actually."

Before Ron could retort there was a fluttering noise overhead as dozens of owls swooped down on the long tables to deliver the daily post. A large tawny owl landed in front of Hermione to deliver the D_aily Prophet_, while a small barn owl landed on Lors's head, between her two buns of hair, holding out a leg with a letter tied to it. Even Ron's owl Pig was there, twittering madly as it flew several circles over his head before it crashed into Ron's temple.

"Ouch! Stupid bird…" Ron took the note tied to Pig and read quickly. "Mum wants to say hi. Says everything's fine at home."

Hermione made a noncommittal noise behind the pagers of the _Prophet_. "You should send her a reply. But don't tell her about what happened to Harry!"

"Why not?"

"Well, you know how your mother reacts to things like this."

"Right." Ron grabbed his quill and wrote something on the other side of the note. Pig automatically hopped down on the table and put out his leg, puffing his feathers with pride. Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah…you're a professional owl, aren't you? Too bad you'll mostly be mistaken for a finch than an owl…"

"You're too mean to him," Lors commented. She smiled at Pig. "I think he's cute."

"Yeah, well, I don't need a cute owl, thanks."

"Oh look," Lors pointed at an eagle owl that had landed on the seat Draco had just vacated. "I think this one's for Draco." She scooted over to his seat and read the name on the letter. "Yeah, it's for him."

Hermione looked over the newspaper. "We should take it and give the letter to him later in class."

"Good idea." Lors turned to the eagle owl. "Er…I'll take that for Draco."

The owl seemed to deliberate on the idea before it stretched out its leg stiffly for Lors to untie the letter. Lors did so quickly, and when the letter came off the eagle owl flew right away. Lors frowned at the bird. "A bit arrogant for an owl…" She stuffed the letter inside her bag.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, what did you expect? It's Malfoy's. That should explain a lot." He looked over at Hermione. "Anything interesting?"

Hermione shook her head as she folded her copy of the _Prophet_ and tucked it inside her bag. "Same old stuff. They're still trying to figure out who's going to be Minister now that Scrimgeour is dead. No one seems keen to have the position."

"I thought someone would have volunteered by now, since Voldemort's dead," Ron commented.

"Well, they've learned their lesson the hard way," Hermione replied darkly with a sniff. "Serves them right, if you ask me, but they should be thinking about getting things done and over with so everybody can get on with their lives," she added with a sigh. "Anyway, we should go to class or we'll be late."

"Shouldn't we wait for Draco?" Lors asked.

"He left with his bag, didn't he?" Ron pointed out. "He's probably outside the classroom right now."

o0o0o0o

Draco was, in fact, not outside their History of Magic classroom, but outside the door that lead to the winding stairs of their dormitory, staring at nothing. He had left the Great Hall fuming, but as he neared the tower dormitory his footsteps had dragged into a slow walk, until he completely stopped.

He didn't know what was worse: his mortification mistaken for anger, or feeling mortification in the first place. He closed his eyes and bit his lip in shame. Weasley had completely misinterpreted him, thinking he was angry at Harry. Oh no, he wasn't really angry at Harry; he was angry at himself.

It was all because of a stupid dream. Draco felt his cheeks grow hot at the memory; those vivid images were burned into his mind, and no matter what he did he could not get them out of his head…

_It was a curious sensation, moist heat touching his skin, but Draco could not find it in himself to get away from it._

_Harry was there beside him on the bed, his legs entangled with Draco's, his fingers languidly tracing lines on Draco's arms as his tongue traveled down Draco's neck. Draco gasped, surprised at the contact. He opened his eyes to see Harry smiling at him._

_"Hey," Harry's voice was low and caressing. Draco couldn't help sighing in contentment, hearing Harry's voice. Harry leaned closer until their noses almost touched. "Liked it?"_

_"Not really," Draco smiled back, his gray eyes glinting with mischief. "It needs improvement."_

_Harry quirked an eyebrow, his eyes smoldering. "Really. Should I try again?"_

_"Yes," Draco answered softly, his eyes closing as Harry leaned even closer, trailing light kisses down Draco's neck, up his jaw line, across his throat. Draco hummed in pleasure, one hand curling into Harry's hair, the other tracing the lines of his back._

_When Harry traced his tongue across Draco's lower lip Draco shivered, welcoming him into a kiss that was beyond anything he had experienced before. Harry was unpredictable, and so was the kiss; gentle and slow and hard and passionate all rolled into one. Draco could taste Harry in that kiss; he could feel his heartbeat against his chest, his yearning that reflected Draco's own, hidden deep within himself. When they broke apart for air they were both flushed and panting slightly, a smirk playing in Harry's lips._

_"Was that better?"_

_Draco chuckled. "Hardly. But it'll have to do." He pushed himself up and straddled Harry's waist. "Let me show you how it's done."_

_Draco held up Harry's arms and studied him. Harry's hair, always disheveled, was now even more messy thanks to Draco's ministrations. His green eyes were half-lidded, and his lips swollen and parted slightly, his cheeks flushed red. Draco's eyes traveled down Harry's neck to his chest, still covered in a nightshirt and rising slowly with each breath Harry took. He looked vulnerable and challenging, confident and wanting. To Draco, he was the most desirable thing in the world, and he would own him completely._

_"It's embarrassing when you stare at me like that," Harry said, breaking Draco's line of thought._

_Draco gave him a sultry smile, leaning down. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that." He thrust his hips hard, grinding against Harry, and when Harry arched his back and gasped Draco covered his mouth with his own in a hungry kiss. Draco's tongue took in all Harry had to offer, and Harry could only moan, his hands grabbing at Draco's shoulder._

_Draco closed his eyes as Harry's fingers traced lines of fire against his skin, searing heat that made colors burst behind his closed lids; he opened his eyes to bright light…_

_Sunlight filtered through a slit in the drapes of Draco's bed. He lay there, motionless but awake, until his mind could properly process the dream that had him flushing and his heart pounding against his chest._

Draco growled irritably against his chest, remembering. He gave a strangled cry when he had realized he had been having a vividly erotic dream about Harry, and it had woken Weasley up. The red-head had looked up to see Draco looking very flustered and angry, red blotches on his cheeks as he took the kitten Harry by the scuff of his neck and almost dropped him on the floor. Needless to say Weasley ended up rolling on the floor, laughing, but Draco only gave him a glare.

As he climbed the stairs two at a time, Draco tried to compose himself. He should not be letting his anger get the best of him, not at a time like this. And—a vein throbbed against his temple—he should NOT be having dreams that involve Harry! It was downright unhealthy, and what's more, if his friends find out—

Draco shuddered. He could not even bear to think what Harry's friends would do if they knew exactly why Draco was out of sorts.

When he opened the door to the boys' bedroom, he found Harry restlessly stalking the entire room, mewling in a morose manner. He stopped when Draco entered the room, tilting his head. "Meow!"

"Hungry, are you?" Draco sniffed at Harry and sat down on the edge of his bed. Harry followed him, sitting down by Draco's feet, sniffing the edge of his school robes. Oh crap, Draco cursed. I forgot to bring food.

As if summoned by Draco's thought there was a loud, cracking noise, and a house-elf appeared in the middle of the room. Harry let out an angry yelp, his hackles rising before climbing up on Draco's bed and crouching down beside him, his deep green eyes trained on the unexpected visitor. Draco's eyes widened slightly. There was no mistaking it; it _was_ a house-elf, wearing a tea towel for clothes, emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. But it was already quite old, its large face and long, thin fingers wrinkled, thin strands of white hair on the tips of its bat-like ears. Draco let out a gasp; it was the house-elf his aunt Bellatrix had once summoned.

The house-elf jumped slightly at Draco's gasp, and he whirled around. Draco wracked up his brain, trying to remember. "You're…Kreacher, aren't you?"

"I is Kreacher, sir," the house-elf bowed respectfully, although he eyed Draco suspiciously. "Kreacher knows your face, sir…"

"I'm Draco Malfoy."

A look of recognition passed on the house-elf's face. "Ah! Kreacher remembers now. Yes, you is Bellatrix Lestrange's nephew."

Draco noted the way the house-elf mentioned his aunt's name so casually. If he remembered correctly, Kreacher had been groveling and kissing the ground Bellatrix Lestrange stood on, calling her 'mistress'. "You are employed here at school?"

Kreacher nodded. "Only temporarily, Draco Malfoy sir, until Master Harry Potter finishes his schooling."

"Master…Harry Potter? I thought you served Aunt Bellatrix."

Kreacher hissed at the name, shaking his head vehemently. "I is not—I is not working for Bellatrix Lestrange!" he stomped his feet. "Kreacher had been wrong to betray Master Harry before…I was a bad house-elf…but I—will—not—be—again!"

Draco let Kreacher simmer down, knowing the way house-elves behaved. They were awfully diligent and excellent with chores, and they were downright loyal to their masters. Clearly, Kreacher was very loyal to Harry.

When the house-elf had calmed down enough, Draco cleared his throat. "So…what are you doing here?"

"Kreacher came to visit Master Harry, to see if he is doing well." He tilted his head at Draco. "Have you seen him, Draco Malfoy sir?"

"Well…" Draco glanced down at Harry, who was cleaning his front paws with long licks of his pink tongue. "There was an accident, you see…"

Draco narrated the events, as briefly as possible, before placing Harry on his lap. "So now I have to take care of Harry while he remains a kitten."

Kreacher's eyes widened at the sight of the black little kitten, who was curiously sniffing the air and watching the house-elf with wary eyes. "Master Harry?" Kreacher's voice was half disbelief, half shock.

"I'm sorry," Draco blurted out before he could think. "I should have been the one changed into a kitten."

The house-elf looked up at Draco, his large brown eyes seemingly calculating, his face blank. Finally after a long silence the house-elf shook his head. "No, Draco Malfoy should not apologize to Kreacher. Kreacher knows Master Harry." He smiled proudly, watching the kitten play with its tail, chasing it in circles on Draco's lap. "Master Harry saves the people he cares about, and thinks little of his own welfare. He saved Kreacher, too."

"Oh," was all Draco managed to say, his cheeks flushing slightly. So Harry saves those he cares about, does he? Does this mean he cared about him, too?

Kreacher bowed again. "I will be in your debt Draco Malfoy sir, if you take care of Master Harry while he is like this. I will help you, Draco Malfoy sir," he added with a nod. "Just call Kreacher's name, sir, and Kreacher will come."

"Thank you," Draco replied. Harry meowed loudly this time, looking up at Draco. "Ah, can you fetch a saucer of milk for him, then? He hasn't had breakfast yet."

"At once, Draco Malfoy sir," Kreacher said, and vanished with a crack. A moment later he appeared with a large saucer of warm milk and placed it down on the floor. Draco gingerly let Harry down to drink.

After assuring Kreacher that Harry did not need anything else, except to be brought another saucer of milk at lunch, the house-elf disappeared with another crack. Draco let himself down on the bed, lying on his stomach. He watched Harry lap at the milk while his mind raced, Kreacher's voice echoing inside his head.

_Kreacher knows Master Harry. Master Harry saves the people he cares about, and thinks little of his own welfare._

Was that it? Draco stared at Harry, willing him to look at him and answer back, but Harry only lapped at his milk and licked his paws, meowing every so often. Was that the reason why you saved me, Harry?

Draco had been wondering about this for a long time now and often sat staring off into space thinking about it. What was the reason for Harry rescuing him like that? A large part of him believed it had been an automatic reaction to events; Harry was kind-hearted by nature, always risking his life for others. Rescuing Draco surely must have been brought about by this character of Harry's.

But a small part of him refused to believe. Harry must have had a reason for doing what he did. Draco bit his lip. Why would Harry save him when he was a Death Eater whose hands almost killed Albus Dumbledore?

Draco burrowed his face into the mattress, Kreacher's words repeating itself over and over in his head.

Harry finished his milk and curled up beside Draco to sleep. Draco lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his hand absently stroking Harry's fur.

o0o0o0o

Lors was only just beginning to nod off to sleep when the door to their History of Magic class creaked open, and in walked Draco, almost half an hour late for class. Professor Binn's droning voice was cut short, and a few students who had already been asleep stirred from their seats.

"I'm sorry I'm late professor," Draco drawled out, finding his seat beside Lors. "I had to take care of a few things."

"I see." The ghost of Professor Binns cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I hope you don't do this again…erm, Mulley…now where was I? The goblin rebellions of the fourteenth century were all part of the machinations to liberate…"

As the entire class succumbed to the stupor-inducing voice of Professor Binns, Lors leaned across her seat to Draco. "Here. A letter arrived for you this morning." She slipped the envelope under the desks.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her and nodded curtly—Draco's version of a 'thank you', Lors supposed. She flashed him a smile before turning back to her notes, which Draco saw was actually filled with scribbles and doodles.

The letter was enclosed in a nondescript envelope, Draco's name written with black ink in a hasty scribble. Draco's heart skipped a beat; he could recognize Blaise Zabini's handwriting anywhere. He studied the envelope carefully, trying to see if it had been tampered. The wax seal on the envelope had not been broken; the dark red wax appeared whole. Running his thumb under the seal Draco opened the envelope and unfurled the letter under his desk, scanning the contents quickly.

Draco could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he read Blaise's letter. He had not heard from any of his classmates and friends after the Dark Lord's defeat, thinking that they had gone into hiding. And from Blaise's letter, they _were_ in hiding.

He carefully folded the letter and hid it underneath his robes, carefully pocketing it so that no one would notice. He stared in front, pretending to listen to the lecture while his mind raced. Quite a number of his friends—whose parents or other family relatives had been Death Eaters—were hiding somewhere nearby, biding their time. Marcus Flint seemed to have become their leader since the majority of Death Eaters had been caught. He frowned, unconsciously biting the inside of his cheek. They were planning to help the Death Eaters escape from Azkaban, and the first person they would help free was his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Blaise explained that most of the former Slytherins turned vigilante thought Malfoy and his family were traitors; they even brought up the topic of killing them. But Blaise assured him in his letter that he had managed to convince them he was not a traitor, that he would help them in their plans. But Marcus needed proof, Blaise explained.

_Do this Draco, and you'll be welcomed into our ranks again. Your parents would be reinstated as part of the Dark Lord's inner circle!_ Blaise's own words. Draco felt confused; how would they become part of the Dark Lord's circle when he is already dead?

This was all too sudden, and Draco did not know what to think. Become a Death Eater again?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Draco pushed the letter and its contents to the back of his mind, deciding to think it over more carefully later. And a letter to Blaise would not be a bad idea; he had a dozen questions he wanted answers to.

Behind him, out of Draco's line of sight, Ronald Weasley watched, eyeing the folded parchment that disappeared underneath Draco's robes.

o0o0o0o

Almost a week had passed since Blaise's letter, and everything had fallen into some semblance of a routine for Draco. If he wasn't attending classes he was inside the tower dormitory common room or the boys' bedroom, wherever he could be alone, to think. The library and the hallways were out of the question; Draco could not stand the stares and whispers that people did a poor of job hiding of whenever he was around; it hurt to think what they were saying about him, his family. Back in the days, he would be with Crabbe and Goyle, sauntering everywhere, acting like they owned everything, and in a sense they did.

Draco shook the memory out of his head. Thinking about the past hurt, too.

Sighing, Draco shifted in his seat, a couch nearest the fireplace in the tower dorm common room. Lors and Hermione Granger were downstairs, supposedly studying in the library, tagging Weasley along. Harry was curled up in his lap, sleeping, his ear twitching whenever Draco flicked a finger at it. He ran fingers under soft, warm fur, receiving a purr in return.

There was a soft knocking on the door before Hermione went inside, followed by Lors and Weasley, whose face looked as if he had eaten a lemon. He sat down on one of the chairs at the back. Draco kept from raising an eyebrow, not wanting to argue with anyone at the moment. He was tired, he realized suddenly. Tired from thinking too much about Blaise's letter, about his family, about himself. And Harry might wake up from the noise.

Lors took the seat beside Draco, stretching as she dropped her bag on the floor. "Thank Merlin that blasted essay for Transfiguration's finished." She glanced at Harry. "He's alright?"

Draco decided to keep the sarcasm at a minimum. "As much as can be expected of anyone being turned into a kitten. How is the potion coming up? I'm tired of playing nanny to a cat, if you must know." He sniffed at the end, his heart not really into it, which surprised him.

Lors grimaced. "How should I say this? Er…partly finished?"

Draco frowned. "Partly finished?"

"She means they haven't gotten it completely yet," replied Hermione, who sat down on a pouf chair near Lors. "Lors only just told us downstairs."

Draco turned to Lors, silently demanding an explanation, which Lors was only too glad to give.

"Because of the complexity of my potion, we needed to create three remedies, not one."

"Why three?"

"Well, my potion wasn't intended to be used for people, wasn't it? What would normally take one cure will take three." She held out her fingers to count. "One to return Harry back to human form, one to return his consciousness, and one to purge the potion completely."

Draco grunted, which caused Harry to stir in his lap. Without thinking Draco ran his fingers down Harry's back soothingly, rubbing behind his ears. Hermione noted the gesture but did not comment. Lors did not notice.

"Which remedy is ready?"

Lors smiled. "The one to turn Harry back to human form will be ready in two more days. Professor Slughorn and I still need to brew it for that long." Her face changed. "Well, there's a bit of a problem with it."

Draco could feel his irritation rising, but he stamped it down. Keeping his voice even, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"We don't know if the effect will be instantaneous, or if it will take some time. But we're sure it will turn Harry back into a human."

"That's good. At least I won't be stuck taking care of Potter any longer."

Hermione studied Draco's face. "Is he difficult to take care of?"

"Yes," Draco answered too quickly, saying the first thing that popped into his head. Very unlike him. "He's unbearable, which isn't any surprise. He likes scratching holes into everything, including my pillows. And he coughs up hairballs everywhere." Draco grimaced. "Eurgh. He smells, too."

Hermione kept her eyes on Draco, careful not to let anything show on her face. "Why don't you give him a bath?"

Draco turned a glare at her. "I did not consent to being a servant, Granger." He smirked. "Then again, maybe that's a good idea. I could drown him in the water. Hmm, tempting thought." His head snapped towards her, his eyes suddenly suspicious. "What are you doing?"

Hermione made her face look innocent. "What do you mean?"

Draco sat up straighter now, but his hand never stopped stroking Harry's fur. "Why are you acting so nice around me?" He turned to Lors. "What are you planning?"

Lors snorted at him. "Idiot. We're not planning anything."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Draco…"

"Who told you to call me Draco?"

"Does it matter?" Lors asked lightly.

"It most certainly does!" Draco hissed. He rounded on Hermione. "I don't get you. I'm supposed to be your enemy—"

"But that's it, Draco!" Hermione cut him off. "You're not a Death Eater anymore, and Voldemort's already dead!" She sighed, shaking her head. "We just want to be friends, that's all."

"We?"

"Me, Ron, and Harry."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, we do," Hermione said, her face daring him to argue. "It's foolish to go on hating each other just because you're a pureblood, I'm born from Muggle parents, Harry's only half, and Ron…Ron…" she faltered, hesitating.

"…is a stupid prick poorer than a mouse," Draco supplied for her. Hermione frowned at him. Lors made a disagreeing noise.

"If I must tell you, Draco, Ron and his family aren't—well, they can afford to live comfortably now. And in the first place it doesn't matter, does it?"

Draco sneered. "Why not?"

"Do you still think that after what happened to your family?"

Draco stiffened. His face hardening perceptibly, he thrust his chin out. "Yes. Because now, more than ever, I know it is true."

"We wouldn't be here talking with you if we believed that," Lors pointed out.

Draco grimaced. "That's because you are different from me."

Hermione sighed. "How different?"

Draco looked away, not wanting them to see. "You did not grow up with my father, Granger." You don't know anything. I would much prefer no one did.

When Draco did not answer, Lors cleared her throat. She scratched at a spot on her chin, her rings gleaming faintly with the light from the fireplace. "Come on, Draco. We're already dorm mates, for Pete's sake. The least we can all do is be friends. I mean, what have you got to loose?"

Draco laughed humorlessly. "Oh, that's right, isn't it? I almost forgot."

"Draco," Hermione began, her voice gentle, tinged with pleading. "You know that's not what Lors meant." She looked at him, gave him an encouraging smile.

She was offering friendship without any strings attached. Draco knew that, and it scared him somehow. He had never been offered anything without any payment in return. He looked at Hermione, who remained smiling, at Lors, who was smiling, too. Draco sighed.

"Fine. But I'm already warning you, it's not a good idea to be friends with me these days."

Hermione chuckled. "We've had experiences on dealing with hostility from strangers. I think we can handle it. Right Ron?" she turned, and her face sagged. "Where's he gone off to?"

Draco remembered Weasley's face when he arrived. "I think he's not too keen on the idea of making peace with me. I take it you talked of this before you came here?"

Hermione nodded, disappointment on her face. "Stubborn idiot…" she mumbled under her breath.

Draco turned his eyes to Harry, still sleeping on his lap. "I suppose I'm partly to blame for Weasley's actions."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "He just needs to accept the situation as it is. He can be pretty mule-headed about things sometimes." She turned apologetic eyes to Draco. "He still thinks you're scheming something; silly, I know, but you can't help it when…well…"

"I understand," Draco replied smoothly, but inside his mind was whirring. Did Weasley know about the letter? Had he seen it? Better be careful. Blindly he cast his mind about to change the topic. "I heard there's a Hogsmeade visit scheduled tomorrow. Perhaps we could all go?"

Hermione brightened up considerably. "That's a great idea! I was thinking of going with Ron, but if there're more of us it will be more fun."

Lors grinned. "Sure why not? I need the time out."

"It's settled then." Draco took Harry into the crook of one arm and stood up. The kitten stirred, but not enough to wake up all the way. He settled comfortably in Draco's arm, yawning. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Hermione and Lors watched Draco leave, Harry in tow. As the door closed behind him Lors said, "You think he won't try anything fishy? I think Ron was right, you know, if what you've been telling me is any indication."

Hermione made a noncommittal noise, frowning slightly. A week ago Ron had taken her and Lors aside, telling them about the letter Draco had received, the one that Lors had passed to him. Draco acted very suspiciously after reading the letter, becoming pensive and silent. Hermione had watched and seen Draco's behavior, knowing Ron had not just imagined it. Was he up to something again? "I don't know."

Lors raised an eyebrow at her. "And Ron?"

"I'll talk to Ron," Hermione decided straightaway. "Until there's some real evidence, we'll just have to give Draco the benefit of the doubt." She paused. "And he seems to be taking really good care of Harry."

o0o0o0o

The next day dawned clear and sunny, with no trace of cloud in sight. Students had begun passing through the Entrance Hall and walking to Hogsmeade right after breakfast. They went in small groups, lining up before the great double oak doors for Filch to check their names on the list. When Draco and the others went in line, Filch saw them. He shuffled over and gestured with his hand. "The headmistress said you students can go. You're not underage, so I don't need to supervise when you go in and out of the school." He scowled at them, as if they had just insulted him.

Draco couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "And ignore your self-established tyrannical authority in Hogwarts? That's very generous of you, Mr. Filch."

Filch gritted his teeth. "You lot may not be underage, but flout just one school rule and I'll see you hanging upside down on the dungeon wall, mark my words!" His cat, Mrs. Norris, meowed loudly, yellow lamp-like eyes boring into them.

Draco was not perturbed. "Of course. Whatever you say," he drawled, walking past Filch and his cat, out into the wide expanse of grass-carpeted grounds.

Hermione and Lors walked quickly to catch up with him. "Did you have to goad him?" Hermione asked, her tone disapproving.

"It's become a Slytherin tradition that I couldn't miss. And it was fun, you must admit."

"You left Harry in the dormitory?" asked Lors.

"Yes. I've told one of the house-elves to bring him milk later."

Ron trailed just a few steps behind them, glaring at Draco's back. Glancing behind him, Draco remarked, "Weasley's not in such a good mood, is he?"

Lors snorted. "I think I just heard the understatement of the day."

"Ah, well, Ron can be a bit…"

"…he has a tendency to become borderline violent in my presence," Draco finished for Hermione, who could only sigh in exasperation. "Haven't you told Lors about the colorful memories we've all shared during our years at Hogwarts?"

"Some," answered Lors. "And I could imagine the rest, I'm sure."

"Can't you try to be friendly with him, Draco?" Hermione pleaded. Draco shrugged, not saying anything, but slowed down a bit so that he was now walking beside Ron while Lors and Hermione went ahead. Hermione looked quite surprised but pleased, watching them from behind. Draco was already talking, although he wasn't looking at Ron. Ron eyed Draco like a wary cat would, but at least he wasn't screaming. A good sign, thought Hermione.

Lors whistled under her breath. "Wow. I didn't think he would agree so easily."

Hermione nodded in silent agreement. It _was_ strange. She and Lors walked down the winding road to Hogsmeade, taking in the cool morning air, when Ron suddenly stormed ahead of them, his face a thunderhead. Draco caught up with Hermione and Lors a few moments later, his face unreadable.

"What happened?" Hermione demanded.

"I talked. Civilly, I might add."

Lors frowned at him. "And?"

"I mentioned our discussion last night. I told him I thought it would not do any harm if we tried to at least make truce. He was silent for a moment, and then he told me he might think about it."

"What did you say?" Hermione asked.

"I told him I was quite surprised he could even think."

Hermione sighed. "Oh Draco."

o0o0o0o

They stopped first at the Three Broomsticks for butterbeer, Hermione trying to engage both Draco and Ron into decent conversation, but the damage had been done. After finishing their drinks, Hermione finally agreed to Lors's proposal that they split up and meet in front of Zonko's joke shop after two hours.

"It would give Ron a chance to cool off," Lors had whispered to her. "And besides, you can talk to him privately about this."

Lors announced that she would check out the shops that sold potion ingredients, while Hermione dragged Ron off somewhere, leaving Draco to walk around Hogsmeade alone, which suited him just fine. He walked along the major thoroughfare of the hamlet, ignoring the looks and whispers as he passed. He was quite becoming good at it.

When he had grown tired Draco sat outside a small café, drinking tea. He watched people pass by, wondering what he would do while his thoughts roamed. Hermione's idea of friendship was ridiculous; he and Weasley would never be anything aside from enemies. But friendship was not a bad thing, was it? His mother might even approve of it. And his father would…no, musn't even think about that. He would deal with his father in time. For now he should focus on his studies. When would Harry turn back to normal? He should do something about his dreams; Draco could feel his cheeks flush. The dreams have become a regular occurrence now, and becoming increasingly graphic with each passing night.

Abruptly Draco stood up and paid for his tea, deciding a stroll through the less-frequently visited streets of Hogsmeade might do him some good. He needed to remove the image of Harry in various states of undress out of his mind.

Draco stopped in front of a store he had never really quite taken notice of before; visits to Hogsmeade had always been a bore to him, specially since Crabbe and Goyle only wanted to go visit Honeydukes' to re-supply their stock of sweets. He pressed a hand against the cool glass of the display window.

It was a shop that sold trinkets and knick-knacks, the kind where you can find real, authentic gems and cheap cut glass all mixed together. There were bracelets and bangles on display in neat little rows, along with necklaces, rings, and even tie pins. Draco stepped back. The store was small, tucked away in a corner of a street the students seldom walked past, but it was neatly kept, its paint fresh. Draco went inside.

The shopkeeper was an old woman with hair so white and wispy it looked like a cloud had settled on her head. She welcomed Draco in with a smile. "What can I do for you, young man?"

Draco looked around the shop. "I was just browsing."

"Oh, take your time, dear." The old woman sat behind the register and began browsing an old issue of Witch Weekly's.

Draco looked at the items displayed on shelves inside the shop. There were unusual items here, too. Draco fingered a little silver coronet and a large frilly pink ribbon. A glint of green caught his eye, and Draco took the item to the shopkeeper. "How much for this one?"

The old woman looked over the magazine. Draco held out a black velvet choker with a square cut emerald gem the size of her fingernail, set in silver. She smiled at Draco. "It's an antique, but I can part with it for fifteen Galleons."

Draco took out the money from his robes. "Here. Don't bother to wrap it for me." He pocketed the choker and turned to leave.

"If you don't mind me asking, is it for your sweetheart?"

Draco turned to the old woman, but in his mind he saw eyes the color of emerald. "No. It's for my cat," he said, and left.

o0o0o0o

Inside a shop that sold quills and parchment, Hermione was trying to make Ron see sense. She put down the eagle feather quill on the shelf and turned a disapproving frown to him. "Ronald Weasley, it wouldn't kill you to try and be friends with Draco."

"I'd rather make friends with acromantulas than talk with that lying git."

Hermione sighed. "I know Draco's been nasty to us ever since first year—"

Ron snorted. "He's been the devil, that's what he was."

"—but that doesn't mean you have to be like him, too! Don't you think he's been punished enough?"

Ron scowled. "No," he answered vehemently, and left her in the store without another word. Hermione bit back the words she wanted to say, deciding instead to wait until they were back at Hogwarts to sort everything out.

o0o0o0o

Ron could hear the blood pounding in his ears, his anger taking its sweet time to abate. He took deep breaths of cool air, trying to clear his head. Hermione would never understand. She had never been in his shoes. Ron clenched his fists. His family was old, pure-blooded like the Malfoys, but they were never respected, never been famous like Harry or filled with genius like Hermione. They had never been powerful like the Malfoys.

And Draco Malfoy always knew how to twist that knife deep and hard, a shame that Ron and his family always bore silently, knowing there was nothing they could do. And Ron hated Draco for that; he didn't think he could hate anyone as much as he did Draco bloody Malfoy, but there it was.

And now Hermione was asking him to forgive Malfoy just like that?

Ron walked restlessly around Hogsmeade, trying to clear his head. As he rounded the corner he stopped, eyeing Malfoy coming out from one of the narrow streets, heading for Zonko's. Ron frowned, remembering the suspicious letter from days ago. He studied Malfoy at a distance, his face grim.

Malfoy was hiding something under his robes. Ron was curious, but did not follow. Instead he remained where he was, deciding to kill time by walking around some more before he met up with Hermione and Lors. But his mind never left the subject of Malfoy, deciding to keep an eye on the former Slytherin, knowing he was up to no good.

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 5._

_Next: Chapter 6 – Baths and Nighttime Excursions. Warning: lime and lemon ahead. evil laugh_


	6. Baths and Nighttime Excursions

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights. Also, a hefty serving of lime and lemons ahead; you've been warned. Hit the back button while you still have the chance! If not…._

_Author's Notes: Enjoy, enjoy, mwahahaha. And my most profuse apologies to Ciiah; terribly sorry I made you wait. I hope this chapter compensates for my shortcoming._

_Please read and review afterwards._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 6 – Baths and Nighttime Excursions**

Hermione sipped at her pumpkin juice and took a bite of egg from her plate as she listened to Lors, who was gesticulating emphatically with her hands, making bits of her toast fly everywhere in the process.

"Can you believe it? They had unpurified ether!" Lors was saying, her expression scarcely believing. "And they thought it was just some…some floating moon rock!" She grinned. "I actually got a bargain for it; if they'd known it was unpurified ether I'd have to pay more than just ten Sickles."

The trip to Hogsmeade had ended with no incident, although Hermione had sensed Ron's dark mood all the way up to Hogwarts castle. She had not been able to muster up the courage to talk to him again after their little quarrel yesterday.

Trying her best to smile, Hermione asked, "Well, what's unpurified ether for?"

"It's like this," Lors began, pointing with her fork. "If—hey, hang on, where's my toast? Oh well, we can always grab another one," and she stuck another toast on her fork before continuing. "When treated properly, unpurified ether is a powerful restorative. I can use it to turn Harry back to normal faster!"

"That's great!" Hermione exclaimed, sounding genuinely happy, her own worry forgotten for the moment. "Can you work on it now?"

"Sure, I just need to make a few adjustments to the other two remedies. Oh, hey Ron, over here!" Lors looked over Hermione's shoulder, waving at Ron. Hermione stiffened, but made herself look. Ron acknowledged Lors with a nod of his head, his face inscrutable. When he saw Hermione he stopped, then took a seat farther down the table. Lors frowned.

"What's wrong with Ron?"

Hermione frowned at her plate. "I—we—well, we were talking yesterday…about Draco."

"Oh," understanding dawned on Lors's face, her smile melting. She gave Hermione a sympathetic frown. "He didn't agree with you, did he?"

Hermione shook her head, despair on her face. "No." She bit her lip.

Lors gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Hey," she said gently, "you were the one who told me Ron's always acting childish. This'll just be one of those temper tantrums of his." She grinned. "Just give him a nice, large serving of breakfast and his mood will improve almost instantly."

"I wish it was that easy," Hermione said morosely.

"It's that serious, huh?"

Hermione sighed. "You don't understand, Lors. Ron's hated Draco since forever; their parents hate each other, too! If there's one thing that could put Ron in a bad mood it's anything that's attached to Draco Malfoy."

Lors frowned. "But I thought the person Draco hates most is Harry?"

"Oh, he hates Harry alright," Hermione grimaced. "But he loathes Ron, too. And to Ron his hate for Draco is…is _immense_. He's had to endure insults and sneers about his family, the way they're not really…well, they're not as rich or powerful as Malfoy's family." Hermione was now wringing her hands, the words pouring out of her mouth very quickly, and Lors realized her friend was genuinely upset about the whole thing.

But before she could say anything Draco had appeared, sitting on an empty spot beside Lors. He looked angry, his face almost akin to Ron's. "Er, good morning?" Lors tried to smile at Draco, who only glared back at her.

"Hmph."

Lors frowned. "What's gotten into you?"

Draco's cheeks flushed slightly. "Bad morning," he snapped, grabbing a toast.

"Well I've got some news that might cheer you up. We can give Harry the first cure this afternoon, after Potions class." Lors watched his reaction.

Draco stopped with the toast midway to his mouth. He turned to Lors, blinking. Finally he rolled his eyes and gave a theatrical sigh. "Thank Merlin I can have a decent night's sleep again."

Lors snorted. "So I've heard. But I can't be sure if the effect is instantaneous or not; it might take a few hours."

"As long as I can have my bed fur-and-stink free, I can tolerate a few hours more." Draco sniffed delicately, pouring milk into a glass. He glanced at Hermione. "What happened to you, Granger?"

Hermione looked away. "It's nothing."

Draco nodded as if understanding perfectly well. He took another bite of toast. "Did you and Weasley have a row over something that's in one way or another related to that great personification of charm and wit that is me?"

Hermione almost choked on her pumpkin juice, glaring daggers at Draco. "Don't give me a reason to turn you into a ferret again, _Malfoy_."

Lors bit back a laugh. "A ferret? Draco, you've been turned into a ferret?"

"Don't remind me," Draco almost growled, glaring a warning at Lors. He turned to Hermione with a smirk. "It's not my problem that your boyfriend hates me, Granger. He's a looser; he should get over it and go on with his life." He was about to take another bite of toast when a muffled mewl caught his attention, making him miss the growing scowl on Hermione's face.

Lors quirked an eyebrow. "Did I just hear a cat?"

Draco felt something nudge his side. He looked down. His bag was partly open, and _something_ was shuffling inside it. He slowly opened the flap.

Out popped Harry's furry little head, ears twitching. Draco could feel a nerve twitch on his temple as he restrained himself from wringing the kitten's neck.

"Oh hey!" Lors grinned as she spotted Harry's head, now sniffing at Draco's bag and meowing. "You finally took him out of the tower, that's great."

"I didn't take him out," Draco snapped, glaring at the cat with a snarl. Harry must have crawled into his bag while he changed into his school robes.

Hermione tutted. "You should be more careful about where you take Harry. He's just a kitten; what if he gets lost?"

Draco snapped his mouth shut, opting to glare at Hermione instead. He _will not_ shout; Malfoys don't shout when they are angry. Taking a deep calming breath, Draco tried to ignore the thundering in his ears, gritting his teeth. His day was not going well at all; that he was having a bad morning was an understatement. His cheeks flushed warm, remembering how he had to have a cold shower that morning. Those God-awful dreams have really got to stop!

Feeling a headache coming on, Draco slung his bag onto his shoulders, Harry clinging on tight. "I'll take him back to our room. See you in class."

"Don't forget to bring him this afternoon!" Lors reminded at Draco's retreating back. She turned to Hermione. "Did you notice that?"

"Notice what?" Hermione asked sullenly. She kept darting anxious looks at Ron, who was still trying to ignore her, although his cheeks flushed now and then.

Lors shook her head in exasperation. "I'll talk to Ron later, see if I can help smoothen things out with you, alright? Now stop acting like a kid and finish your breakfast before we arrive late for class."

Hermione sniffed, denying that she was acting sulky, but did as Lors said. They left the Great Hall together in slightly better spirits, although at the back of Hermione's mind she was still troubled by her argument with Ron. She had only wanted to clear things up between them and Malfoy; was that so wrong and so impossible?

o0o0o0o

Draco dropped Harry roughly on his bed, feeling the blood rush through his cheeks. "Stupid idiot! Who told you to crawl into my bag like that?!"

Harry only meowed loudly and tilted his head, large green cat eyes staring unblinkingly at him. Draco groaned inwardly; reduced to arguing with a _cat_. How did things turn out like this?

Sitting down at the edge of the bed, Draco let his breath out in one long sigh. This wasn't Harry's fault. He bit his lip, knowing he only had himself to blame. Harry had nothing to do with his short temper and disturbing dreams. Draco shuddered, remembering.

"Meow."

Draco looked down to find Harry rubbing his head affectionately against his hip, mewling for attention. "Now what do you want?" Draco asked with a slight frown, his tone without rancor. He picked up Harry and rubbed behind his ear, earning a purr from the kitten. A smile quirked its way into his lips; Harry loved being rubbed behind his ears.

The kitten climbed up into Draco's lap and curled into a black ball of fur, the distinctive white marking on his forehead clearly visible. He allowed Draco to stroke him with one hand, his tail swishing slowly. "Lucky git," Draco rolled his eyes. "You have no problems in your life, don't you Harry? I bet when you return to normal people would flock at your feet, ready to do your bidding."

The cat only meowed in response, eyes half-closed.

Draco continued to stroke Harry's fur, talking to him. Strangely enough, it made him think more clearly. "I know I should apologize to your friend Hermione; I acted like a prick. She only wanted to be friends with me. Can you believe that?" He picked Harry up with two hands until they were face to face. "Hermione Granger actually extended friendship."

Harry tilted his head, one ear twitching. "Meow?"

Draco smirked. "I must admit I thought it was all an elaborate joke. But she wasn't kidding." He stared at Harry's green eyes. "Like you."

Harry made playful swipes at Draco, trying to grab a lock of his hair. Draco let him down on the bed and schooled his face to calmness. The cat meowed again, almost as if in question. Draco ran his thumb down the kitten's face and neck, enjoying the softness and warmth of his fur, before leaving Harry alone in the room.

o0o0o0o

"Just put him down on the table, Malfoy, and distract him for a moment while I open this," Professor Slughorn gestured to one of the tables in front of the classroom while one hand held a glass flask filled with a bluish-green liquid.

Draco obeyed quietly, Harry tucked under one arm, making no sound at all. He put Harry down gently on the table and sat on the nearest chair beside it. Lors gave him a quick smile before hurrying to Professor Slughorn's side, placing a small dish on the teacher's desk. Slughorn looked quite jubilant as he popped the cork off the bottle.

"I must admit, finding the cure to Harry's little problem was a challenge," the Potions Master spoke as he added a fine trickle of black powder into the potion, which made it turn a sickly green. "But I believe Miss Ingleton and I have done it."

Draco nodded wordlessly, dividing his attention between Professor Slughorn and Harry, who was sniffing the table curiously. He couldn't understand the feeling of unease that had settled in him since he took Harry down from the tower. Was he actually reluctant to do this?

Of course not. Draco mentally gave himself a shake and frowned at Harry, now trying to make scratch marks on the table. Looking up, he asked, "Is it ready yet?"

Lors gave him an unreadable look before nodding. "Yes. Mind you though, this is only one of three potions Harry is supposed to take. Although that number just might lower down to two, because I was lucky enough to find unpurified ether."

She placed a shallow dish on Draco's table, half-filled with the potion, now turned pale yellow. Draco eyed it dubiously. "And what is this potion supposed to do then?"

"Well Mister Malfoy, we—that is to say, Miss Ingleton and myself—have found it easier to concoct a cure that would turn Harry Potter back into human form." He gestured to the dish on the table with barely hidden pride. "That is what this potion will do."

"I don't understand. Isn't that supposed to be enough?"

Lors rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "You haven't been listening to me, have you? My bottled Transfiguration potion turned Harry into a cat: meaning he doesn't even realize he _is_ a cat. Can't you see? This kitten right here is Harry, technically, but mentally he isn't." She pointed stiffly at Harry, who meowed in response, eyeing her finger warily.

"You are telling me that when Harry drinks this potion, he'd turn back into a human, but his mind would still be that of a cat's?"

"Yes."

Draco frowned. "Why can't you just give all the cures in one go? That would save all of us the time, not to mention the trouble."

Lors growled something inaudible against her throat, scowling at Draco, but then Professor Slughorn took up the conversation. "It's like this Mister Malfoy. Due to the complicated and unorthodox nature of Miss Ingleton's potion, it's most likely that the longer Harry stays in this form, the harder it would be to reverse the effects. And we can't create a single cure for totally removing the potion from his body; it would have to be done with three or two remedies. That is why we decided to address the more critical problem, which is to turn Harry back to human form as soon as possible."

"I see." Draco glanced at Harry, who was now sniffing at the edge of the dish. "Does this mean he doesn't know anything that is happening to him now?"

"From what we can say no, nothing. When we return his consciousness to him, it will be as if he has been asleep all this time."

Relief flooded through muscles Draco didn't know had been tightened with tension. He actually managed to smile. Lors blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing, but otherwise did not comment. Draco eased himself into his chair more comfortably. "Oh. I see."

Professor Slughorn took a few steps back and gestured at Lors, who nodded and tried to keep irritation out of her voice, for Harry's sake. "Since Harry doesn't want anyone touching him but you for some reason, you'll have to make him drink all of this by yourself." She pointed at the dish on the table, half-filled with the concocted potion.

Draco pulled the dish towards him with a dubious look. Then he took Harry in one hand and placed him beside the saucer. "Drink it," he said curtly. "Go on."

The kitten meowed slowly, rubbing his head against Draco's hand, and Lors had to bit back her lip to prevent the chuckle that bubbled in her throat. Professor Slughorn was standing beside her, his face a mixture of anxiety and nervousness. He dabbed at his pudgy face with a silk handkerchief.

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry. With a finger he prodded the cat towards the dish. "Just drink the bloody thing so we can get this over with, Potter," he said in a deliberate drawl. He dipped an index finger into the dish and waggled it in front of Harry, trying to coax him to drink.

This, Draco had found out later, was a bad idea. The kitten sniffed at his finger tentatively then backed away, his paws rubbing at his little pink nose. Gritting his teeth, trying to be patient, Draco pushed his finger in front of Harry again. "It's not poison, you stupid prick!"

Lors cleared her throat. "Maybe it would help if you didn't try shoving your finger down his throat," she said delicately.

Draco could feel a vein throbbing in his temple, his irritation and impatience rising. Somehow he managed not to snap at Lors, instead focusing on the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, he made his voice gentler. "Just try a bit and see for yourself, alright? Here."

He offered his potion-soaked finger, waiting. Harry meowed again, his unblinking green eyes staring at Draco for a few moments, before he padded over to his finger and gave a small, tentative lick.

Draco's breath hitched in his throat at the contact; an undercurrent of electricity seemed to travel beneath his skin, from the tip of his finger down the base of his spine. Harry meowed again, happily, and tilted his head to give Draco's finger a longer lick, his rough tongue warm and wet against Draco's skin.

Harry's little mewl seemed to shatter Draco's semi-comatose state and pulled him roughly back to reality, where the innocent little cat continued to lick at Draco's fingertip. Not trusting himself to speak with his throat feeling suddenly dry, Draco pushed the dish in front of Harry, who began to lap at the potion with his tail swishing in delight.

Draco's finger felt cool; a contrast to the rest of his body, which seemed to feel very hot and bothered. Wetting his lips, Draco pushed his chair back a bit and breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself. He dared not risk looking behind him, at Lors and Slughorn, lest they see his discomfort evident on his face. Instead he waited patiently for Harry to finish, glowering at the kitten with all the vehemence he could muster, blaming Harry for his predicament. It did not help that his mind was flashing images of his nightly dreams, making it even more difficult to keep calm.

After some time Lors stirred, impatient. "See anything different, Draco?"

Instead of snapping a retort, Draco decided to be his usual, drawling, sarcastic self. "Oh I don't know; I think Potter's still a cat. Don't you think?" He lifted Harry up by the scruff of his neck. Harry did not seem to mind; he was occupied with licking his front paws clean at the moment, having finished the potion.

Professor Slughorn wiped at his face again, his rotund belly pulling taut his silk vest. "Well…well, this decides it, then."

Draco turned his neck and gave him a cool, barely polite look. "What does it decide, professor?"

Lors flashed a frown of disapproval at Draco, who pointedly ignored her. Professor Slughorn seemed not to have noticed as he said, "We were not really sure if the cure would affect Harry instantly. It might take a few hours for it to actually work. But it _will_ work without fail—that I can assure you both." He nodded, convinced, and walked over to his table, starting to clear up his things. "You can go back to your dormitories now, Miss Ingleton, Mister Malfoy. And notify me or the headmistress immediately when Harry has turned back. Immediately, understand?"

Lors nodded. "Yes, professor." She took the dish away.

Draco stayed in his chair. "How long do you think this potion might take to work…_professor_?"

Professor Slughorn looked up, a flash of annoyance crossing his face at Draco's question, giving the former Slytherin a vicious satisfaction at having elicited a reaction at last. He knew Slughorn still did not like him, and he would never forget the fact that Slughorn had not acknowledged him, during sixth year.

Draco stared blankly at the Potions Master, waiting, his eyes a silent challenge. Professor Slughorn seemed to swell, if that was possible, his face an angry red, plainly trying to rein in his temper at Draco's impertinence. With a voice that almost shook with the effort, he said, "I expect within a day, Malfoy. But because of the unusual potion…my guess is a day. But no more."

Draco gave Slughorn the barest of nods, his face showing nothing. He would have loved to smirk, but—as he was constantly being reminded by sharp glares and hushed whispers behind his back—he was no longer in a position where he can do everything at his whim. He stood and walked away without another word, Harry in tow tucked under an arm.

He walked briskly through the dim corridors of the dungeon, his heartbeat rapid as it slowly sank in. He would be free of the burden of taking care of Harry Potter in a few hours. Sweet relief flooded through him, and Draco almost danced for joy. He would be free, _finally_, of the daily torment of his nightmares.

Nightmares were what he called them, although they were anything but. Draco unconsciously tensed before he could force himself to relax. It would be alright, he told himself fiercely. Harry would not even _remember_ anything. Draco glanced down at the kitten in his arm, looking at everything they passed by. He would not remember your actions, your words…_his_ behavior every morning when he always wakes you up with his warm tongue and soft nose against your throat—no, stop thinking of that! You will return to being indifferent now because you cannot afford to hate Potter because you owe him your freedom, your family's freedom. You will be indifferent Draco, yes? Not friendly, just polite, and not warm, as warm as Harry had been in your dreams, as lustfully hungry as Harry when he touched—

"Draco? Draco! Did you hear what I just said?"

Draco blinked. Lors was right in front of him, frowning. He had stopped walking. Harry was still under his left arm, sniffing the air. He looked up at Lors. "What?"

The frown on Lors's face had grown slack. "I was trying to tell you what you did in the room wasn't very nice. You were rude and insulting to Professor Slughorn!" She stopped, her brow lowering into deep furrows. "You haven't been listening to me this whole time?"

Draco realized that Lors must have caught up with him only a few moments ago. He shook his head, trying to regain composure. "I was drifting off. Thinking about…well, we can talk later." He began his brisk pace again.

"Hey!" Lors called out. "Where are you going?"

Draco glanced back. "I'm going to the pitch."

"Why?"

Draco paused for a while. "I want to think."

o0o0o0o

Draco was already jogging by the time he got to the tower dormitory and let Harry down onto his bed. "Kreacher!"

The house-elf arrived with a loud crack, bowing until his nose touched the floor. "You called, Mister Malfoy sir?"

"Keep an eye on Harry for a while," he said as he opened his trunk of clothes, exchanging his dark school robe for a jacket. "I'm going to fly around the Quidditch pitch. And give him a saucer of milk while you're at it."

The house-elf went to follow his instructions, appearing a few moments later with a large saucer of milk. Draco turned to the house-elf. "He's already drunk a potion that would return him to human form. It might start to work in a few hours, so call me when there is any change. Understand?"

Kreacher nodded, bowing humbly. "Yes, Draco Malfoy sir."

Satisfied, Draco left the room, his broomstick already in hand. It was already turning dark, and he was silently grateful he had not encountered anyone as he walked down the corridors and out the door into the Quidditch pitch. He supposed most students were already getting ready for dinner.

The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was eerily silent, making it seem even larger than it really was. Draco breathed in the crisp cool air, glad of the solitude. Lowering himself onto his broom, he kicked off the ground and let the earth fall away beneath him.

He had almost forgotten this, the thrilling sensation of flying. He allowed himself to glide lazily around the pitch before doing the more difficult moves, weaving through the goalposts and turning intricate loops with almost blinding speed, although not as fast as a _Firebolt_. He could feel all his troubles melt away, blown away by the wind whistling in his ears.

Up here he could almost believe that everything that had happened was all a dream. His family's shame was a dream, and his and Harry's predicament was a dream. _This_ is real, the heart-stopping, eye-watering speed of flight, where you can almost touch the sky that has no limit, where everything has no limit, and you can taste freedom in your mouth and feel it sharply cold against your skin, and you feel _alive_, more alive than when both your feet are firm on the ground and people's eyes accuse you, almost screaming out their hate and their snide laughter at your pathetic situation. Draco dived sharply, watching the ground rush up to meet him before he pulled back at the last moment, shooting up into the air again, and he allowed a whoop of delight to escape his lips.

As he flew Draco thought about Harry, and for a moment his stomach gave a sickening lurch. He had been on the point of diving again, but this time he hovered in the air, his thought drifting to the Boy Who Lived. Harry would be back to normal within hours. He looked up, to the sky now in purple and deep blue hues tinged with warm gold, a few pinpricks of light already visible. Could things really go back to the way they once were?

Ironic to think that he wanted everything to be just the same as it had always been, when the reason he wanted to go back to Hogwarts was to change, and to prove he could change. _But still_, a voice inside his head asked, _could they?_

Draco turned a wide arc in the air. Here, where he was alone, he could afford to be honest, at least with himself. No, things would never be completely the same. He remembered the trip to Hogwarts, and a smile curved his lips. He remembered Hermione's offered friendship and Lors's complete indifference to his circumstances—a fresh change from the usual silent treatment and sometimes outright hostility. And of course, his tentative truce with Harry himself.

_And your dreams?_

Embarrassment chilled his skin, and Draco bit his lip in vexation. His dreams were something he could not easily ignore, since he had to endure them for seemingly countless nights now. They were pure fantasy, true, but they were products of _his_ imagination. He counted it his stroke of good luck that Harry would not be able to remember anything; Draco knew he would die of shame if Harry ever recalled seeing Draco moaning in his sleep, or waking up with Harry's name almost on his lips, or the fevered intensity of—Draco shook his head to clear his mind, aghast at finding himself flushing to the roots of his hair.

"Bloody stinking Potter!" he yelled to the sky as he flew straight up, the wind making his eyes water, the cold biting, and he welcomed it. "I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU!"

He flew for almost an hour, venting out his frustration by flying the intricate techniques he had been taught when he was the Slytherin Seeker. He knew he was an adept flyer, more than satisfactory, but he had never been able to fly as recklessly as Harry did. Somehow he always kept back, afraid he might miss, or he might fall off his broom. His anger at Harry had abated to a more or less simmering state, something he could easily control, but it did not lessen his grudging admiration for Harry's skill at flying. As he circled the pitch one last time before descending, he pondered on the thought. Was this what made Harry different from him? That Harry was not afraid where he was terrified of failing?

Draco walked back up to the tower dormitory in silence, his head low, avoiding students. The corridors were mostly deserted, since it was already dinner time in the Great Hall. For a moment he stopped at the corridor leading to the Great Hall before shaking his head and going straight to his room. He would have Kreacher bring him dinner later.

When he opened the door, Kreacher was there, standing guard beside the door, while Harry played with the already tattered edges of Draco's mattress, courtesy of his previous attempts at scaling Draco's bed. Draco dropped his broom on the bed and lifted Harry up by the scruff of his neck to face him. "For the last time, Harry. Do-not-destroy-my-things." He dropped Harry on the floor gently before sitting down. "You can go now, Kreacher. Oh, and bring me dinner here, will you?"

Kreacher bowed wordlessly and disappeared with a crack. Draco allowed himself to lie back down on the bed with his feet still on the floor. He stared silently at the ceiling of his four-poster. Harry meowed loudly somewhere near his feet.

"Go away, Harry," Draco said tiredly. He closed his eyes.

A few moments later Kreacher appeared with a tray of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Is there anything else, Draco Malfoy?"

"No."

"Call Kreacher anytime you is needing my help with Master Harry, sir," Kreacher said, before disappearing again. To the kitchens, Draco supposed. He sat up and saw the tray placed on top of his trunk, Harry curiously sniffing at the edge.

Draco considered eating now, but found it uncomfortable to move around in his already sweaty clothes. He wrinkled his nose. "I guess I should take a bath now." He glanced at Harry, who was now attempting to claw at the tray. "Might as well take you, too."

"Meow?"

Draco rolled his eyes. He grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his trunk and placed Harry on his shoulder, where the kitten was now quite comfortably perched, before heading to the Prefects' Bathroom on the fifth floor. It took Draco no more than a second to decide whether or not he should go there; McGonagall didn't forbid them from using the Prefects' Bathroom, did she?

The magically enlarged bathroom was thankfully empty when he got there. Taking two of several towels in a nearby niche, one for him and one for Harry, he placed them near the edge of the tub and placed Harry beside them. "Stay here," he ordered sternly. The cat merely watched him unblinkingly, but at least he did not move. The tiles were cold against his bare feet as Draco stripped off his clothes and opened several taps that gushed out warm, soapy water in various scents. The mermaid in the stained-glass window was fast asleep. The large tub, which was actually more a pool than a tub, was filled within minutes. Draco turned off the taps and tested the water with his foot before lowering himself in.

He let out a sigh of contentment as the warm water seeped into his skin, releasing knots and tensed muscles in his body. He stretched himself out, and when he was used to the heat looked over to where Harry was. But the kitten was no longer there.

Draco stood up, panic rising. "Harry? Where are you?" He looked around, his eyes searching frantically, but there was no sign of a swishing tail or ball of black fluffy fur anywhere. He looked around again. "Harry!"

There. Draco backtracked, and saw Harry at the edge of the tub, on the far side of where he was, one paw tentatively swiping at the bubbles rising from the surface. Cursing himself for his carelessness and cursing Harry a thousand times more for being a stupid, witless cat, he swam over to where the kitten was. "Stop! You idiot, don't move!"

Harry leaned closer to the water. For a moment he hovered, half his little body stretched out and in the air. Then Draco blinked, and Harry was suddenly no longer there.

Biting back a curse Draco took a deep lungful of air and dived.

He blindly waved his hand around, hoping to strike against fur, but he only swiped at water. He swam out a bit further, now almost at the edge of the tub where he thought Harry had been. He swam frantically, searching, until the need for air became necessary, and he broke through the surface of the water with a loud gasp, wiping water out of his face and looking around. "Harry!"

A black something in the shape of a pointed ear broke through the surface, hands waving every which way in the middle of the large pool, and Draco reacted without thinking, swimming towards it and grabbing one arm, pulling with all his might.

Draco heard a gasp for air beside him, but he did not dare look behind, instead concentrating on treading water until he was beside the edge and pulling both of them out of the pool. He climbed up only halfway, his upper body out of the water, taking huge gulps of sweet air. He turned around, and nearly slipped off the tiles and into the water again.

Harry was lying on his back, water running down his body in tiny rivulets. His _human_ body.

Draco's eyes widened in shock, his mouth hanging open. His eyes traveled down from Harry's face to his chest, all the way down to his knees, the rest of him still submerged in the soapy water. Draco scrabbled to get out of the water and kneeled down beside Harry. He took his shoulders and shook Harry lightly. "Harry! Harry!"

Harry coughed up water and began to stir, his eyes opened feebly, showing eyes of clear emerald. With his mouth partly open and his chest rising and falling slowly, water dripping off of him, Draco had a hard time concentrating. His eyes inevitably traced the curvature of Harry's neck, down to his slim but rather firm chest. Draco felt warm liquid dripping down his chin, and he brought a hand up. Blood smeared his fingertips, and Draco realized vaguely that he was having a nosebleed.

"Meow?"

The sound startled Draco out of his dazed, half-intoxicated state. "What…what did you say?"

"Meow?" Harry said again, softly, and sat up, leaning on his elbows. Draco could feel the blood streaming from his nose come out in a gush at seeing Harry in such a provocative and suggestive position. With an enormous effort of will he forced himself to calm down and assess the situation carefully, one hand blocking the rush of blood through his nose.

Something wasn't right. Harry wasn't supposed to say 'meow'! Draco looked Harry over again, quickly passing over most of his body, and saw something he did not like. Two pointed and unmistakable cat-ears poked through Harry's black hair plastered wetly on his head, one of them twitching. A long, dark tail protruded from Harry's lower back. Draco's eyes returned to Harry's face. Oh, it was definitely Harry, with a un-Harry like expression: his face guileless, tilted questioningly at Draco. "Meow?" he said again, this time with a questioning tone.

"Oh crap."

"Meow!" This time Harry sat on his knees, his hands curled inwards like paws, on his lap. He looked at Draco with a wide smile. "Meow!"

Draco wiped the blood off his face and took a deep, calming breath. "Calm yourself, Draco," he muttered. He glanced at Harry, who was still looking at him. "Right. You stay here." He pointed at Harry, while he began to get up.

Harry's face brightened considerably, and he leaped at Malfoy, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck with a delighted "Meow!"

Draco yelped and lost his footing on the slippery tiles, landing with a thud on his back, Harry naked and sprawled on top of him. Draco shivered despite himself, feeling the slick skin of Harry rubbing oh so deliciously against his own, his coherent thoughts rapidly scattering.

_Get him off! Get him off! _A voice inside Draco's head shrieked in panic, and he scrambled to obey. But before Draco could even open his mouth Harry began rubbing his cheek against Draco's, nuzzling his neck with a low purr that rumbled against his chest and made Draco flush a healthy pink. Ignoring the growing hotness of his own skin, Draco deliberately turned his head away, placed his hands flat against Harry's chest, and pushed as hard as he could with his limbs rapidly loosing strength. "NO! Stop this!" His tone was harsher than he intended, laced with rising panic, but Draco didn't care. His mind was numbed now with panic and a light-headedness he supposed was due to lack of blood; his nosebleed had not stopped yet.

He mustered a glare at Harry, who wilted under his sharp gray eyes. Harry's eyes actually lay flat against his head, his expression hurt. He sat up slowly, legs straddling Draco's stomach, his hands on Draco's chest. "Meow?" he said tentatively.

Draco's mind shouted a string of expletives, the voice inside his head now screaming into hysterics, saying this was NOT something he should be doing, accidental or not. By all means Draco agreed, but his body did not seem to be cooperating. Instead his left hand rose up to Harry's neck, traced his jaw line, going slowly upwards, until it traced the outline of Harry's cat ears. Draco scratched behind the ear, and Harry leaned closer, mewling his pleasure with eyes half closed. Draco's other hand followed the first, rubbing Harry's other ear.

Draco was fascinated with the reactions he was getting out of Harry. It took him a moment to realize that this was what Lors and Slughorn had meant by an incomplete remedy. Harry was turned back into human, true, but not completely. His mind was still that of a cat's. Calmed down somewhat by this revelation, Draco made to push Harry off when Harry's purr changed into a low, rumbling sound, his tongue gently licking at the juncture between Draco's neck and shoulder, his tail swishing slowly in the air.

Draco froze, too stunned to move, and his mind immediately flashed back to his latest dream, and he could do nothing to stop it…

_Draco arched his back, his eyes rolling as Harry bit gently into his neck, his hands seemingly everywhere on Draco's skin. Draco's nails scratched lightly against Harry's back as he moaned out Harry's name. Harry drew back, a smirk across his lips as he looked down on Draco with smoldering green eyes._

"_More?"_

"_Cheeky bastard," Draco breathed out with a smirk of his own. Without warning he grabbed hold of Harry's head in both his hands and crushed their lips together, his tongue demanding access. As a rumble of pleasure reverberated in Harry's chest, Draco used the opportunity to flip over their positions, so now he was on top._

"_Hey!" Harry half-protested. "No fair."_

_Draco snorted, leaning down against Harry so that their bodies were now perfectly aligned, their throbbing desire for each other almost touching. It made both of them shiver with longing, and for a moment Draco had forgotten what it was he wanted to say. Instead he bit his lip, closing his eyes._

"_Draco."_

_Draco's eyes flew open immediately, startled not by the fact that Harry mentioned his name, but by the low, sultry tone he used to call him. He looked down at Harry, his face beaded by perspiration, eyes glazed with want and lips parted. "Now, Draco. Please."_

_Hearing Harry beg gave Draco delirious pleasure, and he leaned down slowly, a smile curving his lips. "Yes?" he asked, a touch breathless, his own breathing labored. "Please Draco…what?" He bit Harry's lower lip gently before running his tongue over them, then tracing his jaw line and throat, placing feather kisses in between._

_Harry almost whimpered at his touch, restless underneath him. His hands roamed everywhere on Draco. Up his thigh, to grab his buttocks shamelessly, then raking short fingernails up Draco's back. It sent Draco's eyelids fluttering, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, while he fought to keep his focus on kissing every part of Harry's skin. "What would you like me to do now?" he asked hoarsely, barely able to utter coherently._

"_Take me now," Harry pleaded, and it was that which broke all of Draco's self-control._

Draco blinked several times, his mind hazy as he fought to make his mind clear. He _needed_ his mind clear, damn it! He turned, and Harry's clear, green eyes loomed above him, watching. Draco was suddenly very much aware that they were both naked. His skin, already made feverish by the remembrance of his dream, felt like it was exposed to a blazing furnace. He clamped his mouth shut, stifling the groan that threatened to escape his lips as Harry shifted above him, and Draco was made painfully aware that he was already aroused.

"H-Harry," he croaked, then shook his head and cleared his throat to begin again. "Harry, get off me." He tried to make his voice firm, pushing feebly against Harry.

One of Harry's ear flickered, and Draco could see Harry's tail waving languidly in the air. But Harry did not move. Instead he meowed, slowly, as if wondering what it was Draco was trying to say. Draco realized suddenly that Harry was no longer on top of him—or rather, that Harry wasn't sitting on him any longer. Instead he was on all fours with Draco underneath. Draco had the image of a mouse caught in frozen terror underneath a cat, but this time the mouse wasn't paralyzed with fear; it was light-headed and dizzy with want.

Fighting furiously to keep his sanity intact, Draco continued. "Harry," he began, his tone now tinged with pleading, "for both of our sakes just…get away from me, I…ah," Draco gasped as Harry leaned down to nuzzle his neck again and lick at his throat. Draco made a garbled sound against his throat, and his hands tried to push against Harry's chest, stronger this time. "No." Draco's voice was barely above a whisper now, husky, and he knew that if Harry did not move away, he would not be responsible anymore for his next actions.

As if reading Draco's thoughts Harry stopped, his head tilted questioningly, looking at Draco for a long time. Draco watched with baited breath, his mind willing Harry to move, his body wanting Harry to touch him again, and to more besides. He watched through glazed eyes and panting breath, until Harry retreated a few steps on all fours. Draco let out a breath he did not knew he had been holding back.

"Meow," Harry called tentatively to Draco, sitting back on his knees, his hands curled up on his lap once again.

It took Draco a few seconds to summon enough strength to sit up. When he did he managed a weak smile at Harry. "It's alright, Harry. It's alright." He stood up shakily and walked towards Harry, who had instinctively recoiled slightly, his ears flat on his head. Draco rubbed behind one of Harry's ears, and Harry begun almost immediately to relax, purring slightly. He closed his eyes and leaned towards Draco's hand, his tail swishing slowly.

Draco looked down at Harry, trying to think. With Harry still trapped in the mental faculties of a cat, he knew there was no doubt he would have to take care of him longer, until he was fully cured. The thought did not make him as outraged as he would have expected; only weary, and resigned to the inevitable restless and dream-filled nights that would continue, and his extra efforts to keep the secret of his nightly troubles a secret.

As Harry sat there, mewling like a cat but looking for all the world a human being, Draco prayed fervently to whatever gods there were that Harry would not try to cuddle with him to sleep. The thought made the voice in Draco's head wail anew, despite the shiver of anticipation that ran down his spine, and forcing Draco to make a choice he did not like: to take a very cold, very long, shower.

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 6._

_Again, my apologies for being very late with this chapter. Ciiah, I hope you will forgive me. And to those who are thinking of sending me complaints, I tell you this: I _told_ you explicitly this would be a chapter filled with lemon and limes. Not full, steamy, snogging sessions or even full-blown erm…shameless and indecent fornication (smiles). That won't be for…oh, another chapter or two. Maybe. I find that raising the sexual tension a notch at a time is a good thing; it keeps everything nice and fired up all throughout._

_I await your reviews! And I'm open to suggestions on how future snoggings and heavy slash scenes should ensue. I assure you credits will be given generously._


	7. The Second Catastrophe

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Also, this chapter contains light sexual scenes (already?!), with a yaoi flavor. If you do not like either or both, please spare your sanity and push the back button._

_Author's Notes: I'm so happy that all the reviews I've had so far were positive, and most were asking for the next chapter to be updated soon. Many thanks to everyone who wrote their reviews! I'll try to make a list of all of you, I swear I will._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 7 – The Second Catastrophe**

Headmistress McGonagall pored over the long, slanted writing of one of her fifth year students while a headache thrummed at the back of her head. She dipped her quill in dark red ink and scratched a barely passing score at the bottom of the foot-long parchment. She placed the rolled-up assignment atop a stock of similar essays. There, all finished. She sat back on her high-backed chair and sighed, her muscles aching for rest and her eyes stinging.

A portrait hanging on the wall behind her stirred. "Finished then, headmistress?"

"A feat in itself, Albus," Minerva sighed again, magically conjuring a pot of tea from the kitchens. She took out a biscuit from her tartan container tucked inside one of her table drawers and bit into it. "I was almost beginning to think I would drown in copied Transfiguration essays."

The other portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses were already fast asleep; not surprisingly, since it was already very late. Except Albus Dumbledore's portrait, which kept Minerva company during late nights when she had to draw up plans, schedules, and reports on activities in and out of school.

Mostly though, they discussed about what the Order of the Phoenix had to do next.

"I am quite shocked about Shacklebolt's report this morning," Dumbledore said, his face quite serious as he looked down his long nose at the headmistress. "Have you confirmed it yet?"

Minerva grunted, taking out a small list of names from her table with a frown of distaste. "What appalls me more is the fact that all of them are just children. Children, Albus!" She looked up, her face indignant and worried at the same time. "We should have seen it coming!"

"There now, Minerva, you know it was something we could not have stopped, had we warned them," Dumbledore said in a comforting tone. "I believe it had been their choice, and no one else's."

"Choices that were warped by their twisted parents' stupid pride and avarice for power!" McGonagall slapped a hand to her table for emphasis. "They were students at this school, Albus; it hurts me to see that they've all become Death Eaters and—" she cut off, too choked up with fury and pity. Albus politely looked away as McGonagall turned around and blew loudly on her handkerchief.

After a few moments she spoke again. "At least Draco Malfoy had the sense to turn back to us."

Albus smiled kindly. "Ah, but I always knew the boy was not evil like his father. Fortunately for young Malfoy, he had his mother to rely on."

"Yes," Minerva sighed. "A pity she fell in love with a man like Lucius." She picked up the list again. "The Order has begun searching for their hideout, but it seems these…Death Eaters…move very often, so we cannot pinpoint their exact location." She winced as she said 'Death Eaters'; after all, she had taught every one of them in Transfiguration, and even if she frowned upon their behavior in school, they had still been her students.

Albus studied her as he said, "And when you catch them?"

"The law is the law, Albus," Minerva said heavily. "They would have to be arrested and tried for rebellion and siding with the Dark Lord." She frowned again, staring intently at the list.

"Something amiss?"

"I was just wondering what they are planning to do," Minerva answered after a time, her tone pensive. "Their leader is dead, none of them have even been a Death Eater for more than a year, and they have no resources. What could they possibly be thinking?"

Albus stroked his long beard. "Have you ever considered they would want to free the other Death Eaters?"

"It's impossible," Minerva said instantly. "They would never get past the guards at Azkaban."

"I believe that the first thing they would want to have is a standard-bearer," Albus said. "They need to gather people, and morale for their cause. Once it had been Voldemort, but now he is dead." He looked down at Minerva again.

McGonagall worked her mind furiously, thinking. "You're right. They're most likely to choose a leader among them." She picked up the list again. "Flint, you suppose?"

"The most likely candidate," Albus nodded. "But he has not the traits of a leader of Dark wizards—he lacks the wit and slyness, although he certainly does not lack the determination. I remembered how hard he drove the Slytherin team when he was captain. Although I must say, his passion for the sport pales in comparison to Oliver Wood's."

"Wit and slyness," McGonagall repeated to herself as she sat back down, tapping the rim of her half-empty tea cup. Suddenly her face cleared and she looked back up at Albus. "Dear Merlin…" she breathed, stunned by her own deduction. "Not Lucius Malfoy?"

"Or his son," Albus said in a grave tone. "After all, they would not so easily believe that the Malfoys have turned down their alliance with Voldemort. They had pretended to do so in the past, if you remember."

"But Lucius Malfoy could never lead them to revolt again," McGonagall said. "They would be targeting Draco then."

"Let us hope that they do not." Albus frowned, worry in his face and dimming the twinkle in his eyes. "The boy has only begun to heal."

"Which reminds me," McGonagall said. "Professor Slughorn has informed me that he and Miss Ingleton have already given the first cure for Harry's condition."

"Splendid," Albus smiled. "And the results?"

"Nothing yet, although I told him to report to me the moment there has been any—"

A rapid knocking on her door cut her off abruptly. She raised an eyebrow and stared at the door. "Come in."

Professor Slughorn came rushing in wrapped in a deep purple silk robe and slippers, ushering five students inside, all in their night clothes and wrapped in robes. When he recognized them McGonagall smiled in relief. "Ah, I see Harry Potter has been turned back. Excellent." She drew seats for all six of them, high-backed wooden chairs that she personally liked over poufs or couches.

"Yes, good evening, headmistress," Professor Slughorn huffed, wiping at his sweaty forehead with a scented handkerchief that he tucked away in his pockets before wringing his hands. A sign of worry, McGonagall noted. Not at all good.

The reason for Slughorn's distress became clear to her when the students sat down, all except two: Draco Malfoy, standing a little in front of Harry Potter, who seemed to be hiding behind the former Slytherin's figure. Minerva's eyes quickly spotted the cat ears rising from each side of Harry's head, and the tail that hung in the air behind him. Her eyebrows rose.

"Meow," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence, his emerald eyes peering from over Draco's shoulder. Minerva's eyebrows rose even higher, and her mouth hung open.

"Interesting," came Albus's voice from behind Minerva. She did not need to turn around to see that he was smiling. Instead she continued staring at Malfoy and Potter, her face hard.

Professor Slughorn cleared his throat, paling at the headmistress's reaction. "Well," he began, and cleared his throat again. "Well, headmistress, as you can see, Potter hasn't been completely turned back to normal. We have to wait until Miss Ingleton and I could create the last cure—"

"Last cure?" Minerva cut him off, her brows now lowered into a frown. "I thought you said Potter needed three cures."

"He does, Professor McGonagall," Lors replied a tad hesitantly. She squirmed in her seat when Minerva directed her sharp look at her. "I found a potion ingredient that would make it possible to make the last two cures in one go."

"I see." She turned back to Malfoy and Potter. Draco Malfoy, she noticed, had begun to flush slightly pink at her steady gaze, while Harry continued to hide behind him. "And?"

This time Draco's flushed face turned two shades deeper, and he avoided looking at her. It was Hermione Granger who answered. "He is…well, professor, Harry still thinks he's a cat."

"What?"

"Potter's mind hasn't returned yet," Slughorn explained. "The potion Miss Ingleton originally made had turned Potter completely into a cat, and his mental state, unfortunately, remains to be of one."

McGonagall sighed, shaking her head, the sternness in her face melting. "I suppose it would not be a good idea to turn him over to St. Mungo's for a while?"

Out of the corner of her eye Minerva saw that Draco seemed about to protest, his face now set into a frown, but it was Lors who interrupted her. "No offense, professor, but the people at St. Mungo's wouldn't know what to do with Harry."

"And why is that?" Minerva asked with an arched eyebrow.

Lors flushed. "Well, I—er," she stammered, suddenly unsure.

Minerva looked flatly at her. "I think what you wanted to say, Miss Ingleton, but cannot, is that you used potion ingredients the likes of which cannot be found anywhere in this country, or any other place in the world, except where you are from. Isn't that so?"

Lors paled, shrinking in her seat. "How…how did you know?"

Minerva snorted. "I'm the headmistress of this school, girl. Anything and everything that goes around in this school, I make it my business to know. Don't worry, you won't be put in detention for that…yet." She looked sharply at Lors, who gulped and shrank back further into her seat.

She turned back to the others. "I gather no one can approach Potter safely yet?"

Ronald Weasley grunted in his seat. "Except _him_." He gestured sharply with a nod of his head, towards Draco. Hermione frowned at him and bit her lip, but she did not say anything. Lors sighed.

At Ron's words Draco drew his chin up sharply and glared at him. Minerva noticed that Harry's ears were now flat on his head and he crouched further behind Draco. He seemed to sense that Draco was angry. Fighting the urge to raise an eyebrow at that, Minerva looked at Draco. "I gave you the charge to look after Potter, Mister Malfoy. So tell me; when did Harry change back into human form?"

The question made a dramatic effect on Malfoy. His cheeks and neck were now a shade of red, and his face fought to maintain composure. "About an hour ago…professor," he answered stiffly.

Minerva sat back in her chair, quite surprised at Draco Malfoy's behavior. "Where?"

"I was taking a bath down at the Prefects' Bathroom," Malfoy answered quickly, his upper lip now beading with perspiration. "I took him with me."

"I see," Minerva said after a while, when Malfoy had not added any more. And from the looks of him, Minerva knew he was uttering a silent prayer that she would not ask him to give a more detailed picture. She placed her hands firmly on the surface of the table. "Well then. As far as the entire school knows, Harry Potter has been absent from school because he is needed elsewhere by the Order of the Phoenix. I think we should maintain the status quo for now, until Harry is fully cured." Her tone was brisk again, and the students nodded their affirmation without ado.

The excuse made for Harry was quite simple, and very believable; most of the students know by now that Harry was actively involved in rounding up the remaining Dark Lord loyalists and the freed Dementors, so it was not really a surprise to find Harry was not in school. "Malfoy, I know this would be more difficult, but you seem to be the only person Potter is not wary of, so you will continue being in charge of him."

Draco was standing so stiffly McGonagall was surprised he hadn't been petrified. The conflict was readable in his eyes, although his face was quite calm, except for the flushed cheeks. He nodded without a sound.

Minerva sighed inwardly and looked to Lors. "I take it the last cure would not take long to make?"

"Just a week professor," Lors replied.

"Good. Professor Slughorn, see to it that the potion is made without delay." The Potions Master nodded and mopped at his face again. "Is there anything else?"

Both the girls shook their heads, and Ronald Weasley only shrugged. Minerva opened her mouth to speak when Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, Malfoy?"

"Can I have a word with you professor? Alone?"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly at Malfoy, but turned towards the others without another comment. "You can all go back to your dormitories now." When everyone had left, except Malfoy and Potter, all but two of the chairs had vanished. Minerva gestured to one of them. "Well, sit then."

Draco walked to the nearest one, tugging lightly at Harry's arm. "Come on," he said gently. Harry walked slowly with him, as if he was unsure of how to walk on both feet. Draco looked back at the headmistress and saw her face. "If I don't hold him like this, he'd walk on all fours."

Minerva nodded, accepting the explanation, as she watched Harry sit on the floor beside Draco's chair. Harry sat in a kneeling position, almost like how a cat would sit upright, looking up at Draco with a nervous expression, his ears still flat on his head while his tail hung unmoving behind him. Draco sat in the chair, and the hand he used to guide Harry now climbed up to Harry's head, absently stroking one of his ears. Harry began to purr, leaning into Draco's hand, his body relaxing.

Minerva watched, transfixed, before she looked into Draco Malfoy's hard face and determined expression. "What seems to be the problem, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco sat up straighter. "Professor, with all due respect, I must ask that you remove the responsibility of taking care of Harry from me."

McGonagall had long ago expected this from Malfoy; it was a slight wonder to her why the former Slytherin had not approached her long before now. "I understand that it _is_ a challenging task…but may I ask why?"

She could see Malfoy's cheeks brighten into a flush again, and the hand that stroked Harry's ear stopped. "I am not well-suited for the job."

"Oh?" She took a sip of her already cooled tea, winced, and warmed it again with a flick of her wand. "From what I can see you've been doing a splendid job."

This comment only seemed to make him blush further; a nerve twitched on his temple. "Professor, I don't have any experience taking care of cats," he explained, his tone bordering on desperation, almost a plea. "He keeps pawing at my stuff, jumping on—on my bed, and making all sorts of trouble that keeps me from having some peace and quiet! He's almost driven me insane!" His words were punctuated by a mewl from Harry, who was nudging at Draco's hand with his nose, wanting to be petted again. Draco resumed scratching Harry's ear without a thought.

Minerva took Draco's words calmly, all the while noting how Harry was behaving with Malfoy. She looked at Draco with a slight frown, allowing some sympathy to show on her face. "I cannot relate to your troubles with Potter, Malfoy…but I think I understand that you are having difficulties. Have you told your parents about this?"

Malfoy visibly paled at the mention of his parents. He shook his head. "No."

Minerva nodded briskly. "Good. I suggest you don't tell them anything. I understand the conditions your family has been going on." She replaced her frown with a kind smile. "Do not worry Malfoy, I'm sure this incident would not be missed, and it would do no harm if your father—or your mother—does not know about it."

The tensions seeped out of Draco's features as he sank into his chair. "I understand, professor," he said in an almost absent tone.

McGonagall took another sip of her tea, waiting patiently for Malfoy to speak again.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

Now Draco seemed hesitant, his brows slightly furrowed. "About taking care of Harry Potter…"

"Hmm." Minerva studied Harry through her square-cut lenses, considering the options. With a sigh she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but there's no other way. Harry seems to be comfortable only with you. Putting him in the hands of someone else might only harm him."

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but stopped halfway. He glanced sideways at Harry, who was contentedly leaning against his hand, his eyes closed, a smile on his face. He sighed heavily, leaning back on the chair for support. "I guess I have no choice in the matter. He saved my life, come to think of it."

"Indeed." She looked at Draco again. "I gather that when he was still in cat form, Harry always curls up beside you to sleep?"

The blush on Draco's face returned tenfold. For the first time in Minerva's memory, Draco Malfoy was struck speechless in front of her, embarrassed beyond belief. She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Don't look at me like that, Malfoy. I had a cat when I was about your age."

The flush of Draco's skin lightened, but it did not go away. "I…see. Professor, I—"

"No need to explain." She gestured a hand towards Harry. "You're worried he might do so again, now that he's back to normal?" Draco stiffened, but he nodded just the same. "Should I give you a separate room then?"

Draco looked quite stunned, his face suddenly flat, but his eyes shimmering with undisguised hope. "If possible, yes," he answered calmly.

Minerva fought to keep from smiling. "Very well then. Your room should be ready by the time you get back to the tower dormitory. It would be the door right beside the room you've been sharing with Potter and Weasley."

"Thank you, professor."

"Is there anything else, then?"

Draco shook his head. "No, professor." He stood up, and Harry sat straight, his ears pricked, looking at him.

Minerva waved a hand to the door. "I trust you can see yourself out? I still have a few papers I need to check before I can return them to my class tomorrow. Good night, Malfoy."

Draco stood before her, his face torn between cold detachment and gratitude. Minerva gave him a rare smile. "No need for thanks, Malfoy. I was only doing my job as headmistress."

Draco nodded, less stiffly this time. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't looking arrogant, either. "Good night, headmistress." He turned to leave, guiding Harry by the hand again, who was eager to follow.

"Oh, Mister Malfoy."

Draco turned halfway, looking at McGonagall with a blank expression. "Yes, professor?"

"If you have any more problems—anything at all, you know where to find me."

Draco nodded again without a word, and left her office without looking back. If he did, he would have seen McGonagall's satisfied smile, and Albus Dumbledore's beaming grin from behind his portrait.

"It's good to see the boy coping well, Minerva."

There were a few moments of silence. "Albus, had you planned all of this from the beginning?"

The former headmaster grinned. "I have no notion of what you are talking about, headmistress. I had had hopes…but this is better than I expected."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "And Harry turning into a cat?"

"Purely an accident, I can promise you. But still, it was a blessing in disguise wasn't it?"

"Haven't you had even the vaguest notion that it might be possible the boy would end up falling for Potter?"

Albus Dumbledore's smile went wider. "Why, then that would be a very pleasant thing, wouldn't it?"

Minerva sighed, only shaking her head in answer.

o0o0o0o

Draco could not help noticing that the steps he took from McGonagall's office to the tower dormitory were considerably lighter than the slow, dragging ones he made with Harry leaving it. He still could not believe his sheer luck; if he had known that the headmistress would give him a separate room almost instantly he would have gone to her that first night. He shook his head, berating himself for his slip. _Of course_ the headmistress would have given him his own room if he had only tried to ask; he was just too wrapped up in his awkward situation with Harry that he had not thought of it before.

Harry mewled softly beside him as they walked through the moonlit corridor, shaking him from his reverie. Draco turned sideways and stopped. "What is it?"

Harry was clutching tightly to the hem of Draco's sleeve with both his arms, wobbling slightly on two feet. He was staring at Draco, his green eyes almost glowing in the semi-darkness, moonlight shafted from the tall windows outlining his dark messy hair in ethereal silver. Harry's face was tilted, openly questioning.

"What?" Draco asked, nonplussed, ignoring the sudden tingles in his skin. "Hungry are you?"

The long, black tail behind Harry waved lazily in the air. "Meow."

"No, huh? So what is it?"

Harry mewled in reply, leaning closer to Draco with his eyes unflinchingly searching Draco's. His face did not change.

Draco stepped back, arching an eyebrow. "You're asking me why I'm so happy all of a sudden? That's easy; I won't have to tolerate you for another night, and _that_ makes me happy." Draco turned and tugged on his arm, and Harry walked again, following him. After a few moments Harry mewled again.

"Why?" Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Really, Harry, isn't it obvious? I want my privacy back, thank you very much, and McGonagall just handed it to me without even batting an eyelash. I didn't even have to demand her for it." Draco smirked, glancing at Harry, who was still staring at him with his face tilted, his expression absolutely clueless. Harry meowed again.

"It means, idiot, you'll be sleeping in your bed, in _your_ room with that God-awful Weasley, and I'll be sleeping in my own room _alone_."

Harry mewled again, almost in reproach, but Draco ignored him. The former Slytherin marched them both back up the tower dormitory with a determined frown. When they arrived in the room they had been sharing until that night, Weasley was already in his bed, sitting upright, his eyes lowering at the sight of Draco.

"Your bed and your stuff are gone," he said stiffly as Draco closed the door behind Harry. An evil grin spread across his freckled face. "Did McGonagall kick you out, then?"

"I'm sorry to dash your hopes, Weasel, but I'm not expelled from Hogwarts yet," Draco drawled as he led Harry to the foot of his own bed. "I was, however, granted my own room." Draco couldn't help flashing a triumphant smirk across the room.

Weasley's jaw went slack. "What?"

"I know; remarkable isn't it?" Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn't even have to ask the old hag. I think she knows how awful a roommate you can be, Weasley."

Ron ignored the insult, instead shaking his head and pointing a finger at Harry, who was contentedly sitting on the floor, watching Draco and him. "What about Harry, then?"

"What about Potter?" Draco snapped. "He'll sleep in his own bed right here. My bed is too small for the both of us, and the very thought of sharing my bed with _him"_—he pointed his own pale finger at Harry—"is not even possible."

Ron frowned, looking decidedly worried. "But what about—"

"Oh shut up Weasley. Potter wouldn't even want to come anywhere near you or the others. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that he's still under my charge," he drawled the last sentence out with as much carelessness as he could muster. "I'll come back for him tomorrow to give him breakfast, then lock him up here before I go down to class."

"Lock him up in the room?" Ron scowled at Draco. "Like a prisoner?"

"What do you suggest I do, oh wise one?" Draco arched his eyebrow coolly. "It was alright to leave him here when he was just a cat, but now that he's almost back to being human I can't just let him roam around the castle."

Draco inwardly smirked in satisfaction to see the brilliant shade of red Weasley's face had turned into. He had obviously not thought of it that way. Stupid of him, really. What did he think Draco would do, torture him? "Don't worry; you could unlock the door with a simple _Alohomora_ spell." Draco allowed himself a smirk again. "Unless you can't even do the spell right, Weasley. You can always ask Granger for help, though, can't you?"

Ron's face had already turned into a dark scowl. "Why you…" he gritted his teeth, veins standing out on his neck from the effort. Draco would not be surprised if he already had his wand in hand, under the blanket. But knowing Weasley, he probably didn't.

Turning his back to Ron, Draco crossed his arms in front of Harry, who looked up at him with an expectant mewl. "Now you. You'll be sleeping here." He pointed at the empty bed. "Got that?"

Harry's only response was a tilting of his head, his green eyes unblinking.

Draco suppressed a growl of exasperation and pulled Harry up to his feet. Harry grabbed at Draco's hands to keep himself steady, and followed him to the side of the bed, where Draco pushed him down gently, until Harry was sitting on it. "Here, Potter. You'll be sleeping here." He even patted the mattress once, to show him what he meant.

There was the sound of someone sniggering from behind. "I don't think he can understand you, Malfoy."

"I wouldn't know if I don't try, would I?" Draco replied dryly, although inwardly he was starting to become angry. The more he stayed here, teaching Harry where to sleep, the more he was looking a fool in front of Weasley. Scowling at Harry, he pushed him down forcibly on the bed, so that he was lying down. He nodded. "There. You stay there until you sleep, or lie awake until morning, whatever you want. Just stay there."

He drew the drapes close and marched out the room without a backward glance.

o0o0o0o

Harry lay quite still on the bed long after Draco had pushed him into it, ordering him to stay. His green eyes glowed mysteriously in the semi-darkness of the bed, his sensitive ears picking out each sound. There were some shuffling and mumbling sounds from outside for some time, until it stopped.

When Ron began snoring loudly, Harry sat up the bed, his emerald eyes wide. "Meow?"

Nothing stirred. He sniffed the air cautiously and pawed the closed drapes. Finally he poked his head out tentatively, his ears pricked up for any sound. "Meow?" he said again, looking around.

The entire room looked somewhat…smaller. Harry slunk out of the bed, dropping on the floor on all fours, his eyes wandering everywhere. He turned around to stare at the bed. He remembered the bed being taller than he was, too. He sniffed the air again, trying to find the scent of the one face he knew would not mean danger.

Something stirred on the other bed, groaning, before it settled back into motionlessness. Harry padded over to the figure, sniffing at the edges of the mattress, before drawing back with his ears flat on his head, hissing softly. It was not the scent he was looking for.

He noiselessly walked over to the door, sniffing curiously at the edge where it met the floor. The scent he was searching for was stronger here. One of his ears flickered as he tilted his head, trying to remember how it was opened. Harry's tail waved to and fro as he trained his eyes on the knob. Slowly, because he was not used to walking on two feet yet, he stood up, his hands slowly inching their way up to the brass knob, and turned it.

The door opened with a soft click. Harry lowered himself down on hands and knees again, pulling the door just wide enough for him to slip through. Ron, sound asleep on his bed, did not even stir as the door closed after Harry.

Harry stopped to sniff at the air, trying to catch the scent again. Oh, it was quite near! With a small mewl of delight Harry followed its trail, to the door right next to the one he had just opened. Quite confident now, Harry began to walk over to the other door when he promptly tripped and landed on his face.

Harry yowled as he fell, but was immediately cut off when he slammed into the cold stone floor. Growling with the pain, Harry placed a hand over his face, wincing when he met with a lightly scraped cheek, feeling raw. He looked to see what had caused him to trip.

He had tripped over the long hem of his very loose pajamas. It had been the one Draco had dressed him up in with magic, conjuring the clothes out of Harry's trunk without paying attention. The pajamas had been a gift to him last Christmas, three sizes too big, that Harry didn't have the heart to throw away. But in his present cat-self Harry did not know all of this; he only frowned at the offending hem, growling against his throat.

Satisfied that the hem would not do anything foolish again (and indeed, it did not move at all as he glared at it), Harry turned his head to the new door, stood up carefully again, and twisted the knob.

The room inside was in semi-darkness. Harry looked around, his emerald eyes wide. He had never been in this room before. Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry sniffed and touched the wooden table nearest the door, the large rosewood trunk at the foot of the bed, and the bedside table. He sniffed the air again and his ears pricked up, tail swishing in delight. The scent he was searching for was here.

The bed itself was closed off from the entire room with the same heavy drapes as the bed he had left not too long ago. Harry tilted his head at it and gave a small mewl. The only response was a ruffling sound muffled by the long, heavy drapes.

Harry sat on the floor, thinking what to do. He wanted to be _near_ that scent, but what if he puts him back in the other room again? Harry growled against his throat at the thought. He definitely did not want to go back there, not without the scent close to him. Carefully he touched the drapes with one hand.

A long, low groan drifted from the bed, and Harry jumped back, hissing. There was the sound of someone shifting on the bed. "No…Harry…"

Harry's ear twitched at the sound. He knew that voice, and he had remembered being called that name. Slowly, he approached the bed, parted the drapes, and slipped inside.

Harry climbed up the bed with practiced ease, still on all fours, until he hovered directly above Draco, who was tossing and mumbling in his sleep, beads of perspiration rolling off his forehead. Harry gave a happy mewl at the sight of Draco, recognizing him instantly, his tail waving widely in the air.

"Meow!" Harry smiled, looking down at Draco. But the former Slytherin only moaned again, shaking his head, muttering incoherently.

"P-please…don't…"

Harry leaned closer, until their noses were almost touching, watching silently with his green eyes glowing.

"…don't stop…"

"Meow?"

Draco was now panting, his lips parted slightly, his brow furrowed. Harry could feel his body tense under the sheets. He mewled again, louder this time, and Draco's eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep.

Draco's eyes were heavy as lead, and his mind was a haze of images and sensations brought about by his dream, his dream of Harry. When his eyes focused he gasped to see Harry's face right in front of him. Was he real or not? Before he could think properly, before he could decide whether it was dream or not, Draco took Harry's face in his hands and slammed his lips onto his, hungry for contact.

Draco moaned as Harry opened his mouth to let him in, and his tongue swept inside lustfully, savoring Harry's taste, wanting him even more. His hands, feverish with want, glided down Harry's neck and began unbuttoning his shirt while Draco's legs spread apart to pull Harry even closer.

Harry's first instinct had been to recoil from the sudden contact, but Draco's kiss felt really nice…and his hands were touching him in all the right places…Harry relaxed and leaned into Draco, letting Draco do what he wanted, as a curious sensation sent tingles everywhere in Harry's body, warming his blood.

Only when it had become difficult to breathe did Draco tore apart from Harry, and he looked at the former Gryffindor's face, now just as flushed as his, his emerald eyes intense. Draco shivered at the sight, and began placing light, feather-like kisses against Harry's jaw line and throat, making Harry mewl. Harry instinctively leaned even closer, Draco's legs now wrapped around his waist, and he ground his hips hard.

Draco, who was already aroused from his dream, arched his back and cried out as pleasure jolted his entire body. His hands gripped Harry's shoulder, shaking heavily with wanton lust. He kissed Harry again, this time thrusting up against Harry, rubbing their sensitive arousals, the thin cotton fabrics of their clothes only increasing the friction.

This time it was Harry who yowled, arching deliciously into Draco, and he began to rub against him harder and faster, wanting to feel that sensation again, the feel of white hot pleasure assaulting his senses, blinding him. Draco timed his own thrusts against Harry, kissing every part of him he could reach. "Harry…oh Merlin…yes…"

Harry panted against Draco's ear, mewling, and he licked and kissed Draco's throat. Draco moaned again, his eyes rolling, and drew Harry's lips back to his fervently, the kiss becoming more aggressive and passionate as they both shuddered with the ever-increasing pleasure that sent their minds blank, their bodies reacting by sheer instinct.

When they both found release they collapsed on the bed, Harry rolling to his side, his arms still entwined around Draco's neck. He mewled softly, licking at Draco's cheek, before he snuggled against his neck, and drifted to sleep. Draco panted heavily beside him, his mind slipping off consciousness, smiling at Harry before closing his eyes completely.

o0o0o0o

A light morning breeze flew in from the window and slipped through the partly open drapes, waking Draco up from the best, most refreshing sleep he had ever had since coming back to Hogwarts. He yawned and smiled to himself, nestling deeper into his pillow. He knew things would get better once he was separated from Harry. He sighed, snuggling against the warm body whose legs had been tangled in his; he could not remember a single disturbing dream about Harry, and Draco was glad for it.

The body beside him shifted, wrapping its arms more tightly around Draco's waist, nuzzling into his neck. For a few moments, the entire room was silent.

Draco gave a loud yelp, leaping out of Harry's arms so forcefully he slipped off the edge of the bed and landed on his back.

The fall jarred Draco enough that his breath left him, his head spinning lightly. He groaned, feeling his sore back, shaking his head. He looked up, and saw Harry's head poke out of the heavy drapes, a questioning look in his face. "Meow?"

Draco glared at him as he sat up, supported by his elbows. Was this Fate's version of a perversely sick joke? He had been very sure to leave Harry in the other room; he had remembered slipping into bed _alone_; so why was Harry here?! He muttered darkly under his breath as he stood up, pointedly ignoring Harry's mewls.

And then he realized that his clothes felt somewhat…uncomfortable. Sticky, even.

Blood rushed to Draco's face faster than he could blink, giving his skin a very rosy complexion as he stiffened, his eyes latching onto Harry's, bright green and unflinching. "We…we didn't," Draco whispered out, unable to believe what he was thinking. His eyes widened even more, his cool reserve fading, as his mind processed everything in the blink of an eye. "I didn't."

He grabbed the drapes and wrenched them open, exposing Harry to the morning cold, making him hiss and retreat to the middle of the bed, but Draco was having none of it. He grabbed Harry's hands and pulled him closer, studying him despite Harry's shifting and tugging.

Harry's hair was tousled as usual, his cat ears now lying flat on his head as a measure of his irritation. Harry meowed in protest as Draco ran his eyes over his body. Harry's night shirt was half open, and his trousers…Draco stared at him for a few moments before pulling back, his face pale and horrified.

With a groan he sunk to the floor, his head resting on the edge of the bed. "Shit," he mumbled dishearteningly, releasing Harry from his grip. "Bloody hell." He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

Harry, who had scrambled away from Draco the moment he had been released, now crawled over to the side of the bed nearest Draco. He mewled softly, tentatively, watching Draco groan again and press his face further into the mattress, smothering himself.

Draco, pureblooded Malfoy that he was, could scarcely believe that he had lost his self-control and actually snogged Harry; but what made it worse was that he had done it while Harry was in such a helpless condition. It almost seemed like he had molested him! How could this have happened? Draco pushed down the guilt and shame, trying to think. He had not even _dreamed_ of Harry! He lifted his head up wearily, and saw Harry looking at him. No, he definitely did not dream about Harry.

But as he said it an image rose slowly to the surface of his mind: clear emerald eyes in the darkness, calling to him, and he had answered with a hungry kiss, one that Harry returned slowly, but very willingly. The sensation of that kiss—and what followed after—was too intense, too accurate, for it to be a dream.

Draco closed his eyes tightly, shame making his lower lip tremble; he let his head fall to the bed again. Fisting his hands and gritting his teeth, he savagely fought off the surge of emotions—the choking heat of anger at not being able to resist, and the immense helplessness at not knowing what to do. He also felt bitterly disappointed at himself for not holding back; he was a _Malfoy_ for crying out loud! Malfoys were a lot of things that are now considered repugnant by the public eye, but this skill of reigning in personal emotions and keeping oneself in check was something he could be proud of, something that he _should_ be able to do effortlessly.

"Meow?" Harry moved closer this time, nudging his nose at Draco's arm, crouching low on the bed. He waited for Draco to respond, his black tail waving in the air again.

Draco took a deep breath, composing his features with effort, before looking up at Harry's expectant eyes. Draco gave him a small smile. "Morning."

Harry mewled again, this time accompanied by a hand being placed on Draco's cheek. Harry tilted his head and mewled again.

Draco almost chuckled. "I'm fine, Harry. Just surprised to find you in my bed. Why were you in my bed anyway?" he asked, his tone accusing at the end, and he raised an eyebrow at Harry, who only sat upright and stared at him. Draco rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I'll just have to make sure you won't sneak into my room again."

Harry's only response was another mewl, as he attempted to nuzzle his nose into the crook of Draco's neck. Draco backed away quickly, his face flushing. "No, Harry. I can't let you do that." The uncomfortable feeling returned, and he blushed more fiercely still. "_We_ can't do this. You're not yourself and I'm…we really can't." Draco stood up and took Harry's hands, coaxing him out of the bed. "Come on, we need to clean ourselves up before everyone else wakes up."

The sound of something tapping on glass made both Harry and Draco look up. An owl was hovering outside the window, a letter clamped in its beak.

Dread slowly filled Draco's stomach as he walked over to the window, opening it wider. The owl swooped inside and landed on the sill. The envelope was addressed to him, in Blaise's handwriting. Draco jerked the letter out of the owl's beak and tore the envelope open, fearing what he would find inside. The owl, ignored, hooted indignantly before taking flight again. Harry watched it go as Draco read the letter, biting his lower lip as he progressed.

_Draco,_

_Marcus wasn't at all happy when he saw the reply you gave. I'm quite shocked myself. I thought you'd be very eager to join our plan! What happened, Draco?_

_Anyway, you have no choice. We know your Dad's not himself—we've heard the rumors. And your mother's been hiding in your Manor, doesn't even entertain visitors. We've tried to get to her, but she seems to be avoiding us. I think it's because the Ministry is keeping a very close eye on you and your Mum, but Marcus doesn't think so. He suspects you've turned over to their side. But I don't believe it. I know you, Draco. You'd never side with Harry bloody Potter would you?_

_Don't worry though, I've convinced Flint you can be trusted. I know you've got something planned, you always did (and convincing the Ministry you're innocent was all part of it) and that you'll tell us your plan when the time's right._

_By the way, sorry if this letter only arrived just now. We've been moving our hideout almost on a daily basis—some Aurors have found our trail, and we've only just managed to give them the slip. Maybe I can tell more to you personally soon—Flint's just given me permission to get over to Hogwarts and see you so we can talk._

_Wait for my next letter._

_Ever your friend…_

Draco had not realized he was sitting on the bed until he had completely sunk into the mattress. Harry was beside him, mewling a question with his emerald eyes. Draco could only shake his head and stare at the letter again, the blood draining from his face, wondering what he should do.

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 7._

_Oh wow, this was a really fast update…I think it beat my record so far. :) I hope you guys enjoy! And do not forget to review! Please!∑_

_Update (April 07 2008): I know there has been an unexplainable and unforgivable hiatus from this fic, but I am very pleased to announce that chapter 08 will be out in a few days._


	8. Guest in the Night part 1

(Cat)astrophe

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's Notes: I'd like to take this opportunity to respond to an anonymous review sent in the previous chapter by someone named "Argo". First, well, you're right; it completely slipped my mind that McGonagall could have told Draco that she has, after all, a cat Animagus form, so she would understand perfectly well how Harry would behave given the circumstances. However, if you can recall, when she's in her Animagus form McGonagall still retains her faculties as a person; remember in the first book, she was reading the sign that said Privet Drive? Cats don't read signs (as Uncle Vernon said). Still, thanks for pointing it out; I'll bear that in mind next time. Second, you said something about Draco being much too careful and untrusting not to lock the door. That's true, very true. But if you were in his shoes, thinking about Harry Potter and dealing with what had recently happened (in the bathroom), your mind filled with so many things, you just might forget to lock the door and put Locking Charms on. Alas, I may not have shown Draco's troubled persona sufficiently, so I'm sorry. I'll be keeping that in mind, too. Oh, and thank you very much for pointing those things out! They really helped me put things into a clearer perspective. :) _

_And now, back to the story…_

**Chapter 8 – Guest in the Night (part 1)**

"I swear, if I see that git put one toe out of line I'll tear him to shreds!"

Hermione, startled, look up from her breakfast of pancakes and frowned slightly when she saw Ron dump his bag violently beside him before spearing several strips of bacon on his fork, glaring at them as if they had faulted him. "Is…something wrong?"

"Draco Malfoy!" Ron snapped at her, seemingly forgetting that they weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment in the wake of his anger at the former Slytherin.

Lors, who was sitting beside Hermione, cocked her head at Ron. "What did he do now?"

Ron grumbled darkly as he filled his glass, which had magically appeared on the table, with pumpkin juice. "He's being an ass. Again."

Lors groaned. "Not about Harry again…"

"Of course it's about Harry again!" Ron answered indignantly, his cheeks flushed with anger. "Malfoy's treating him like some sort of…of animal—"

"No offense, Ron, but Harry isn't exactly all human at this point."

Ron scowled at Lors. "You're always siding with that slimy git. What is it with you and him, anyway? Don't tell me you've taken a fancy to him." He ended with a smirk.

Hermione gasped, appalled by Ron's rudeness. But before she could open her mouth Lors had already spoken, her words sharp. "Watch it, Ron. You don't want me angry with you, trust me. And for your information, I haven't taken a fancy to Draco Malfoy. I treat him the same way I treat you and Hermione: as my friend." She sniffed. "I suggest you start learning to do the same."

"With Malfoy?" Ron said, disgust on his face. "Not in your lifetime."

"Fine, be a stubborn idiot if you must. Just don't try to piss me off."

Ron snorted. "Yeah right. What would you do? Hose me down with water like you did Mad-Eye?"

Hermione decided this had gone far enough. "Ron, please, you're both making a scene…"

Ron's head snapped to her. "Stay out of this!"

But it was true; the Great Hall was already almost full, and students were beginning to look in their direction, curious. Some were already whispering to each other as they recognized who it was, making the ruckus.

Hermione looked hurt, and she sat back in her chair, her bushy hair hiding her face. Lors swelled with anger, now, incredulous at Ron's harsh attitude towards Hermione. "You prick! Why can't you get it through your thick head that Malfoy's not as evil as you think he is?!"

Ron laughed. "Are you sure about that? You weren't even here when he attacked the school with his slimy git of a father, were you?"

Lors eyes darkened perceptibly, her lips in a snarl. Before Ron could utter another word she flung out her hand; a burst of blue light shot out of her outstretched palm straight into Ron's chest. Hermione could do nothing but gasp as she watched Ron glow blue for a moment before he froze in his seat, his face still wearing a half shocked expression. Lors sniffed as she sat back down coolly, ignoring the stares sent her way and the wariness coming from those nearest their end of the table.

Hermione stared at Ron, stiff as a statue, before she could look at Lors. "Lors?"

"Yes?" Her voice was oddly calm.

"What…what did you do with Ronald?"

"Made him shut up," Lors answered succinctly. "Of course, with Stop you make him literally immobile and unable to even so much as bat an eye, but I think it's well worth it." She smiled nastily.

Hermione spared a worried glance at Ron again. "Will he be alright?"

Lors waved a hand to say they shouldn't even worry. "The spell will wear off by itself. He won't be able to attend our first class, but he'll live through that." She snatched a toast from a large pile near her plate and bit into it. "Anyway," she continued, "he needs to learn how to cool off that temper of his."

"I-is that so?" Hermione asked in a slightly dazed expression. In her opinion, Lors didn't exactly have an even temperament herself, but she was smart enough to know now was not the time to tell her.

Draco appearing at the table caught Hermione's eye, and she frowned. Draco looked paler than usual, and he wore a small vexed frown himself. He had settled into the seat right next to Lors, completely ignoring Ron's statue-like state across the table.

Lors tilted her head at Draco. "Something bothering you this early, too?"

Draco did not reply. Instead he grabbed a small stack of toast and placed them on his plate absently, and poured pumpkin juice into his empty glass. Then he stared at his plate with a frown, as if trying to decipher the secrets of the universe embedded into his breakfast.

Lors raced an eyebrow at Draco. "Er…yeah, maybe I'll just get back to you." She turned back to Hermione, who was watching Draco Malfoy with a half-surprised, half-concerned expression. "Do you have any idea why he'd be acting like this?"

"I don't know," Hermione confessed. "But…this is the first time I've seen him so…" she fought for the right word for a few moments, "…out of it."

Lors blinked. 'Out of it' was an understatement, and from the look on Hermione's face, she knew it, too. "Well," Lors said after a while, "if I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with what happened last night."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I can see what you mean." She had watched Draco all the while that the Headmistress was talking with them. It was clear something happened that he didn't wish to talk about, and Hermione had a feeling it had something to do with Harry's sudden transformation. "Let's just wait and see what happens."

Lors scratched at her chin thoughtfully. "You're right. Well, I'd better be going; I have to go talk to Slughorn before classes start, so we can get a head start on the cure for Harry. Later Hermione," she gave Hermione another smile before leaving the Great Hall, a toast in her hand.

Hermione turned back to her food. She suddenly gave a cry of dismay. "I forgot to ask her to turn Ron back to normal!"

o0o0o0o

Draco threw himself down on his bed with a grateful sigh, glad that classes were finally over, at least for the week. He had gone straight into his room after last period, not even bothering to spare anyone a glance, despite Hermione and Lors's questioning looks.

Thinking back on his behavior, Draco could see that they had a reason to be worried. He was totally out of focus, his thoughts worrying over Blaise's letter four nights ago. Every time he turned a corner he half-expected Blaise to pop out, a dozen or more Death Eaters with him. The thought twisted Draco's guts and made him break out in a cold sweat, trepidation and nausea fighting for dominance inside him.

He flipped over on his bed until he was staring at the ceiling of his four-poster. A smile curved his lips when he remembered the identical looks on Hermione and Lors. Even though he was secretly plagued by the idea that Death Eaters would come to Hogwarts for him, Draco decided that it was a pleasant feeling to have friends actually worry about you.

_Friends_. It was the first time he had acknowledged both girls as his friends. It was suddenly so strange to think that he had ever regarded Crabbe and Goyle, Pansy, and Millicent Bulstrode as his friends. The sharp, sudden pang of sadness pierced through him, remembering what now felt like a very distant past. His supposed friendship with them had been a lie, like most of what his life had been.

Draco closed his eyes, which had started to sting, and threw an arm over them. His other hand curled into a tight fist until his knuckles went white. _No_, he thought furiously to himself. _I've already gone through all of this, and I've sworn not to cry over it! I knew this was all going to happen, and I have accepted the facts._

But still, came a small voice in his head, it's altogether different to have reality thrown in your face.

Draco bit his lip and rubbed hard at his face until he could feel his skin sting in protest, then sat up on his bed. "Kreacher!"

The ancient house-elf appeared with a loud crack, stooped and wrinkled, in the middle of the room. "You called for I, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco stood up and flicked his wand at himself, the magic straightening his robes and his hair back in place. "Prepare dinner for Harry and me, please."

"Of course. Will you be taking dinner in Master Harry's room or here?"

"Here, " Draco replied curtly, not wanting to take chances. Weasley might already be in there, or worse, he would walk in on them. The house elf murmured that he would see to it immediately, and disappeared again. Draco walked out of his room and stopped in front of the door right beside his.

"_Alohomora,"_ Draco muttered as he tapped the knob with his wand. The door opened with a sharp click, and Draco stepped inside.

The room inside was slightly larger than his own, made to accommodate three people. But with Draco's bed and belongings already in another room, the space seemed larger than it really was. The window outside showed the sky was already turning dark, with no trace of sun. Stars were already showing. Draco turned his eyes from the window to one of the two four-poster beds, the hangings mostly closed. "Harry?"

Something behind the hangings stirred, and Harry's face poked through the gap, cat ears flat against his head. For a moment he regarded Draco warily, before his emerald eyes sparkled with recognition, and he leapt off the bed with a gleeful mewl.

Draco had by now expected this sort of greeting, and so prepared for it by immediately shifting his footing and crouching slightly as Harry leaped into him, successfully throwing the both of them to the floor. Luckily for Draco, the cold flagstone was covered with carpet, and his stance had lessened the fall's impact. He winced inwardly when he remembered the first time Harry had done this; the bruises on his back were not yet completely gone.

"Alright, I can see you're really happy; now get off me before you squash me completely," Draco said, though without rancor, as he pushed Harry off him. Dusting off his robes he helped Harry stand up on his feet. "Come on, I don't want to have Weasley barging in on us." He grabbed Harry's hand and let the way back into his room, where Kreacher was already waiting with their dinner.

The house elf brightened considerably at the sight of his master, but stayed where he was, knowing that Harry had a tendency to become hostile with everyone save Draco. "Is there anything else master Harry needs?"

Draco shook his head. "I'll call you when we're finished." He watched as the house elf disappeared with a crack before turning to Harry with a sigh.

Feeding Harry was an easy task when he was just a kitten. But now that he was in human form, it had suddenly become a monumental challenge. Imagine feeding a toddler roughly your own height and weight, and with the supremely agile movements of a cat.

Harry had sniffed the air, and his ears notably perked up at the smell of food. Unsurprisingly, he had become quite fond of eating fish dishes, and totally ignored any other food Kreacher would bring. Draco quickly took the plate of tuna sandwiches and held it away from Harry while giving him a stern look. "Remember what I told you about eating. You chew your food properly, and try not to make a mess of my room. Understand?"

Harry gave an absent mewl, his emerald eyes trained on the sandwiches while his tail waved lazily in the air. Draco took one sandwich carefully from the plate. When Harry leaned his head closer and opened his mouth, Draco withdrew the sandwich. "Your hands?"

"Meow?" Harry tilted his head, but Draco was having none of it. He stood his ground and looked pointedly at Harry, saying nothing.

When it was obvious Draco wasn't going to budge, Harry gave a small, almost irritated mewl. Draco noted that his cat-ears were now flattened to his head, and allowed himself a smirk. Even though Harry was still thinking like a cat, his stubbornness hadn't been removed. With the cat-equivalent of a resigned sigh Harry sat on his heels and raised both his hands to take the sandwich.

Draco let Harry grab the sandwich, and watched austerely as Harry sniffed it once before taking a small bite out of the corner, and chewing it slowly. When Harry swallowed, Draco let out a sigh, his frown dissipating. "Good. At least now you can eat on your own. I'll leave the plate on the table."

As he stood Draco kept an eye on Harry, watching the former Gryffindor as he sat and slowly ate his sandwich with a focused expression, his brows furrowed in concentration. Draco could barely hide an amused smile; it was like watching a kid trying to eat properly. He guessed he ought to take credit for that; it had taken him four nights and three changes of bed covers to teach Harry how to eat normally.

He sat on the edge of his bed and took a sandwich from his own plate, grateful for the food. He had only just realized how hungry he was. Sparing Harry a glance once in a while, Draco ate his dinner in silence, contemplating about what he would do next.

_Why isn't anything ever easy for me?_ Draco sighed irritably, putting down his sandwich. He didn't feel like eating much anymore. Slipping off the bed, he noticed that Harry had already finished his dinner, and was now attempting to drink the glass of milk near his plate, doing it awkwardly with two hands.

He was still trying to lap at the milk with his tongue, tilting the glass slightly so he could get a drink. Draco rolled his eyes and walked over to him. "Let me help you before you sprain your tongue," he said dryly, taking the glass from Harry. "I already told you, you have to drink it, not lick it up. God, this is giving me a headache."

Harry mewled, his ears flattening, sensing Draco's irritation. Draco groaned, rubbing his temple with a free hand. "Don't do that, Harry, just—can we just get this over with so I can sleep?"

Harry mewled again, but obediently followed Draco's instructions. When Harry had been fed, he led the way out of his room. They stopped in front of the door.

Draco opened the door partly and gestured at Harry. "Go on, get some sleep. I'll leave you breakfast tomorrow before I go down to class." He turned to leave, but stopped when he felt something tugging at his sleeve. He looked behind him to see Harry holding onto his robes.

Draco held back his temper, and asked, as patiently as he could, "What is it?"

Harry meowed, softly, looking up at Draco with large, green eyes. Draco raised an eyebrow and said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "No. You're sleeping in your own room tonight."

"Meow." Harry hung onto his sleeve even tighter, tilting his head and pouting slightly. Draco made a noise against his throat, frowning. He really did not want to deal with this right now…

With a sigh he opened the door wider and looked inside. Weasley was already asleep, judging by the looks of his foot dangling over the edge of his bed and the sounds of light snoring. Draco closed the door again quietly and turned to Harry, who was looking hopefully at him. "Fine," he said flatly, "but try anything and you're out of the room faster than I can say 'Hogwarts'."

Harry mewled happily as Draco led the way back into his room, and latched himself onto Draco's arm entirely, purring as he rubbed his cheek against Draco's shoulder. Draco blushed, fighting off the smile that threatened to creep up his lips, but did not push Harry off just the same.

o0o0o0o

_Draco gave a sharp cry, his eyes dilating, as the sensation of Harry's warm hand wrapped around him drowned out all coherent thought. His own fingers dug into Harry's bare back, and he arched into the touch, wanting more. "H-Harry…"_

_Harry's response was a kiss, covering Draco's mouth with his own, his other hand at Draco's nape, pushing him closer to him. Harry hissed, breaking the kiss, when Draco's nails scratched at his back, stinging slightly._

"_Play nice," he whispered huskily, his green eyes smoldering._

_Draco gave him a sultry laugh even as he was pinned on the bed beneath Harry. "Who wants to play nice, anyway? I—ahh!" He cried out again, his toes curling, as Harry began pumping him furiously. When his vision focused he saw Harry's face displaying a full-blown smirk._

"_You're right, Draco," Harry began, and Draco shivered as he said his name. "I think it's better if I don't play nice at all."_

o0o0o0o

Draco opened his eyes slowly as the fringes of the previous night's dreams hung in his head. He stirred and tried to get up, but was stopped by an arm wound around his waist. For one moment he had no idea where he was, but Harry's arm tightened slightly when he moved, and then he remembered.

He bit his lip even as he let himself down on the bed, facing away from Harry. This had been the fourth night in a row he had allowed Harry to sleep in his bed. He shouldn't even be allowing it, yet here he was…with his legs tangled up with Harry's. Of course, when you think about it, it's like he was only sleeping with a cat.

_Yeah right_, a voice inside his head snorted. _A cat who is actually Harry Potter, and for all intents and purposes is Harry Potter. What do you think he'd do when he finds out you've been cuddling with him every night?_

Draco frowned. Harry wasn't going to remember any of this, so there was really no point in troubling himself over it. And besides, he wasn't the one who wanted to sleep with Harry.

_Oh, getting defensive now, are we? And is it Harry's fault you've been dreaming about him every night?_

Yes, Draco hissed mentally. If not for him I wouldn't even be discussing this thing with whoever you are, he snarled, not caring that he sounded childish.

Harry stirred behind him, and Draco could feel him nuzzling closer, Harry's breath ghosting across Draco's nape, making him shiver, and he unconsciously leaned back, closer to Harry's warmth. Draco could hear the voice inside his head laughing.

_Oh yes, it's Harry's fault, isn't it._

Shut up.

o0o0o0o

_End of part 1, Chapter 08._

_More notes from the author: Guys, I'm really sorry if this story's been hanging for more than a month now (OMG, a month?!). Life's been more of a challenge recently and well…let's just say I had to divert my focus on something else other than writing fanfics. My most sincere spologies to those who have been watching out for this story from the start…especially Ciiah. Well, I'd be apologizing to a lot more, but Ciiah's been the only one sending me PMs…and Ciiah's been a really great help lifting my mood up. :)_

_Also, because of recent problems, I'll only be able to update one a week at most. You can say I've been given a limit on my PC. Well, I'll try to post the second part of the chapter as soon as possible, but I'm not making any promises. See you, guys._


	9. Guest in the Night part 2

(Cat)astrophe

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character without permission in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Is it just me, or did you notice that most of the previous chapters started with scenes on the breakfast table? And I read somewhere on the site that all HPDM writers should post a veela fic as a rite of passage? Is that true? Hmm, would be interesting; I've never plotted out a veela fic before._

_Author's Notes: Sincerest apologies for making you all wait for the next part of the same chapter to come out. Usually I put all the parts of one chapter up for viewing at the same time but…sigh Ah well, please do not forget to review! They'll be great help to pull me out of this temporary depression. :)_

**Chapter 8 – Guest in the Night (part 2)**

Draco rummaged through his trunk, trying to find one of his old notes from History of Magic; he could just copy information from it into his present essay assignment, since it was about the same boring thing: what else but a goblin uprising? He rolled his eyes as he pushed aside a column of carefully-folded shirts. Why do goblins like to wreck havoc so much? Do they get a high on it or something?

Something hard and cool to the touch met his fingers, and Draco instinctively wrapped his hand over it and pulled it out. His heart gave a particularly loud thump against his chest when he saw the black velvet choker, the square-cut emerald glinting in the morning light. He had completely forgotten about it.

"Meow?"

He had almost forgotten Harry was in the room with him, too.

Draco wiped the startled look from his face and looked at Harry, who was lounging lazily on the bed, his black tail languidly swishing. His emerald eyes shone in the semi-gloom of the bed with its partly closed drapes, boring straight at Draco. "Meow?" he asked again.

Draco felt a smile tug his lips. "Scoot over," he murmured, and Harry obligingly rolled away to give Draco space to sit. When he was settled, he showed the choker to Harry, who sniffed at it suspiciously. "It's for you, you know."

Harry only mewled in response.

Draco let a chuckle bubble through his throat. "No, I'm not crazy. Or drunk. It's really for you. Although I was actually thinking of putting it around your little neck when you were still a kitten." He looked at Harry. "Rather pointless now, when you're already half-way cured."

Harry mewled again, spying the choker in Draco's open palm, touching it with tentative fingers.

Draco tilted his head. "Would you like to wear it?"

"Meow?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Draco gently tugged at Harry's wrist, tying the black velvet around him. The emerald pendant hung just above his palm, and was partly hidden if Harry were to let his arm stay still. He leaned back to see the effect. "Hmm," he said, thoughtful, "not bad."

A knock on the door made him start. A muffled voice followed soon after.

"Draco? It's Lors."

Draco pushed himself off the bed and sat down on the chair by his study table, across the room. He ignored Harry's questioning mewls for the moment. "Come in."

Even after all these months, the sight of Lors's unique hairstyle still managed to make his eyebrow twitch. The slashes of orange between strands of black hair seemed more vibrant in the daylight. Her eyes scanned the entire room, widening slightly at the sight of Harry on the bed, before landing on Draco. "Are you busy?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise against his throat, and gestured a lazy hand at the piece of parchment and eagle-feather quill on the table. "Just finishing up an essay."

Lors made a face at the mention of their History of Magic assignment. "I already finished mine. Complete torture if it wasn't for Hermione. Anyway," she clapped her hands together briskly, "the potion's almost done. It would be ready by tomorrow. I came here to take a sample of Harry's blood."

Draco tilted his head. "What would you need it for?"

"It's just a safety precaution," Lors leaned against the wall, shrugging. "I want to make sure Harry wouldn't have some sort of allergic reaction to the potion."

"Allergic reaction?"

Lors sighed, frowning. It was evident she'd been explaining this to everyone else all day. "Didn't I already tell you I'm using unpurified ether for this last cure? It's not a very well-known potion ingredient, and it might cause unpleasant effects."

"I see." Draco fingered his eagle quill and frowned, looking at Lors. "What _is_ unpurified ether?"

"Very powerful curative and restorative." Lors took out something out of her pocket and placed it on the table. It was a pebble-sized piece of some sort of crystal, its color shifting slowly in all colors of the rainbow. "In its unpurified state, its curing effects would vary. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to purify it…yet. I have to ask my mother, but that would lead to questions, and that would lead to…very bad things," she ended with a grimace. "I already got a warning from McGonagall; I don't fancy telling my parents I accidentally changed my classmate into a cat."

Draco glanced at Harry, who was lounging cat-like on the bed. "How will you get your sample?"

"Just a drop of blood would do," Lors took out a small vial from her pocket again and handed it to Draco. "None of us have really tried to approach Harry in this form, but to be safe…"

"You want me to do it," Draco correctly ended for her, and he rolled his eyes at her sheepish grin. "Alright. But it'll cost you."

Lors gave him an unusual, fox-like grin. "Slytherin to the bitter end, eh?"

"It's in the blood," Draco replied dryly. He eyed the vial. "When do you need this?"

"Just give it today. I'll be in the lab." She made to go for the door, when a tapping noise on the window made her turn. Draco looked at what she was looking at, and felt his throat go dry.

It was Blaise Zabini's owl.

"You're certainly getting a lot of mail," Lors commented. She looked at Draco. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Draco hastily stood up and opened the window. The owl landed on the table with a hoot, sticking out its leg, to which a small piece of parchment had been tied up. Draco looked at Lors, his face betraying nothing. "I'll give you the sample later."

Lors blinked at him, and for a horrible moment Draco thought she might have suspected something was wrong. But she only shrugged and gave him a quick smile. "Later, Draco." She vanished behind the door, which closed with a soft click.

Draco did not realize he had been holding his breath until Lors had left. He frowned inwardly at himself, pushing the thought at the back of his mind as he unfolded the short note. There was only one line on it.

_Midnight, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest near the Whomping Willow. –BZ_

o0o0o0o

Lors flipped through the pages of her notebook irritably, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, showing that it was already nearing eleven in the evening. Crap, she hated waiting.

She groaned like a wounded animal, letting her head fall limply to the table with a loud thud, the notebook forgotten nearby. It was filled with half-hearted doodles and scribbles for the most part, but Lors couldn't bear to part with it. Mostly because she also tucked away bits and pieces of her potion experiment notes in it, too.

Lifting her head a bit, her eyes flitted towards the nearest of the long tables that served as her workplace in this laboratory. It was weighed down with several odd instruments of glass and metal, with a small cauldron actually boiling at the nearer end, the magical blue flames underneath licking at its underside. Harry's last cure was in there, waiting only for the small drop of Harry's blood before Lors could be sure enough to make him drink it.

Which was why she was here, withering away in extreme boredom. What was taking Draco bloody Malfoy so long with a drop of blood?

Lors sighed as she leaned against the chair, stretching her arms as she did so. She even wiggled her fingers for good measure, the multi-colored rings gleaming dully. She stopped when she noticed that a thin band of pink on her right index finger was cracked. How did that happen? Oh yeah. She rolled her eyes with a snort. Ron had pushed her over the edge, and she had lashed out at him before she could stop herself. Oh well. He was back to normal now, anyway.

It's not as if Stop magic was permanent. But now she has to replace her ring with a new one…and she was actually quite fond of its pink hue…

She stood up and began pacing the entire length of the room, occupying herself with making a mental list of things to do. Her eyes caught the small ceramic jar Ron had almost opened. _Number one: put dangerous items into a separate shelf, preferably with magical wards. Must also label _all_ containers, especially the one containing the foul-smelling liquid extracted from Marlboros._ Moving on, Lors eyed a brown leather pouch sitting atop a small pile of books, which contained the remainder of the unpurified ether she had been fortunate enough to find at Hogmeade. The headmistress's face suddenly bloomed in her mind, frowning sharply in disapproval.

_Number two: Must begin to hide all potentially non-tradable goods before the headmistress comes down here._ Which means all bomb fragments, blood-darkened bone fragments, and dragon parts. Lors moved down the table and saw a thick, wood-bound book precariously leaning on an unused cauldron in danger of toppling over. _Number three: Return book borrowed from Hermione._ She pushed the cauldron back a safe distance, then placed the heavy book on top of it like a cover. She would carry it with her back to the dorm later.

Speaking of Hermione…Lors was glad that she and Ron had at least resolved their argument, and were talking to each other again. Although she had a hunch it had something to do with the fact that it was Hermione who had gone through all the trouble of sending Ron to the Hospital Wing that morning, Lors could see that Ron was, at least, not going berserk whenever Hermione mentioned Draco. She and Hermione had tried to make Ron agree to a truce with Draco that afternoon. Ron grimaced and grumbled, but he did not walk out. That was a start.

Lors glanced back at the clock. Eleven fifteen. She scowled. _Number four: Throttle Draco Malfoy when he arrives._

There was a knock on the door. Finally! She crossed her arms and let her scowl stay as Draco walked into the room. "What took you so long?"

At least Ron got one thing right about Draco: his damn pride. He didn't even have the decency to look apologetic as he shrugged. "I had plenty of things that occupied my time," was all he said as he closed the door behind him. He was looking around the small potions lab with slight interest. "So where is the potion?"

Lors suppressed the verbal tirade she wanted to lash out, and just sighed. "It's over here." She walked over to the simmering cauldron, its contents a bubbling brew the color of white wine. She held out her hand expectantly at Draco.

The former Slytherin took out a small vial from the pocket of his robes and dropped it into Lors's palm. It had maybe around five drops of blood; sufficient enough for her purposes. She raised an eyebrow at Draco and smirked lightly. "I hope you didn't have any difficulties getting this."

She had half-expected the glare Draco threw at her, but she was surprised by the rush of pink that quickly spread over his face and neck. It made her want to cackle madly, but she managed to turn it into a grin instead. "Shut up," Draco snapped. "I'm not so incompetent that I'd have a hard time getting only a few drops of blood."

"Oh?" Lors shook the vial tauntingly in front of Draco, enjoying the way he eyed it warily, as the blush crept across his skin even more. "So you took my advice and waited until he was asleep?"

Draco made an odd sound against his throat, but he still scowled at Lors. "That's none of your business."

Lors's response was to grin wider, much to Draco's obvious discomfort, but she stepped back and shrugged, not wanting to push him too far. "True," she admitted, turning slightly. "But even if you did take it while Harry's awake, I don't think it'd be much trouble, since he still thinks he's a cat. I mean, he'd just lick his finger clean after you prick it, right?"

The pink on Draco's cheek had turned three shades deeper, and his eyes actually widened slightly at her words. Lors did a small victory dance in her head. Point one to Ingleton! She couldn't wait to share this little tidbit with Hermione. _Oh I am _so_ evil._

Placing the vial of Harry's blood on the table, Lors took a small sample of the simmering potion and poured it into a little glass dish. Draco watched her, forgetting his momentary embarrassment as Lors put a drop of Harry's blood into the dish and began swirling it to mix the contents. "So? Is it safe for Harry to take?"

"Hmm." Lors watched as the concoction in the dish turned pale orange for a moment before settling into a nice, dark mahogany color. She took out her wand and tapped the glass dish with it lightly, muttering a little spell. The liquid turned ice blue, and Lors smiled. "Yeah, it's good to go. I just need to brew it overnight so Harry could take the remedy tomorrow." She glanced at Draco.

He looked…relieved. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he seemed more relaxed somehow. At least he wasn't scowling. "That's good."

Lors laughed. "So I guess you're finally happy that Harry's going to be out of your hair for the rest of the year."

Draco snorted. "That was a huge understatement Lors."

"Maybe." She corked the vial and pocketed it, then gestured with a hand around the room. "This is your first time in here, isn't it?"

Draco looked around, this time with more interest then when he first came in. "Don't tell me all of this is yours?"

"Most of them." Lors watched as Draco walked around, touching an instrument here and there, but never opening or touching any of the jars and boxes and vials. He peered at the labels on a few of them.

"I've never heard of some of these things before," he said, almost to himself. He arched an eyebrow delicately upon reading the label on a tall and slender purple glass bottle. "Soul Powder?" He turned to her.

"The physical manifestation of a soul's lingering scent," Lors replied. On seeing the look on Draco's face, she added with a smirk, "Don't worry, I didn't have to kill anyone to get those."

Draco eyed the bottle suspiciously. "Is this what McGonagall meant when she said you've been using potion ingredients that weren't exactly…legal?"

"Ah." Lors gave him a sheepish grin, scratching at a spot on her chin. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Really." Draco looked up, at a row of bottles on a shelf just above his line of sight. "What the—?!" He frowned, reading the label on one of the bottles again. "Caramel?"

"What? It's not illegal to stock up on the sweet stuff, is it?"

"Let me guess. You cook _and_ mix potions at the same time."

Lors stuck her tongue out. "I can't cook to save my own skin," she replied coolly. "But I use it for potions though."

Draco gave her a dubious look.

Lors shook her head and sighed in exasperation. "If you don't believe me, fine. Just don't filch any of the caramel on your way out."

"What in Merlin's name would I do with a bottle of caramel?" Draco asked dryly.

"I don't know…foreplay perhaps?" she answered in a delicate tone. Draco stumbled as he almost lost his footing. He blushed furiously again, and this time Lors chuckled. "Oh sorry, was that a sore topic?" she asked, not sorry at all.

Draco's scowl was deadly as he stomped towards the door with a huffed "I'm leaving!"

"Okay," Lors waved a hand at him, grinning from ear to ear. "Take really good care of Harry, alright?" She saw Draco visibly stiffen as his hand reached the door knob. He turned a sharp, dagger-like glare at her one last time before turning his nose up in the air and slamming the door closed as he left.

_Number five: Tell Harry that it would be in his good interest to tease Draco shamelessly on a regular basis._ Lors grin widened into a smirk as her eyes stayed on the door. _Very, very good interest._

o0o0o0o

Leaning against the trunk of a particularly gnarled oak tree, Blaise Zabini clutched his heavy black cloak tighter against his body, tendrils of mist swirling a few inches above the ground at his sudden movement. His dark eyes tried to pierce through the inky blackness around him, hearing his heart thudding loudly in his ears. He had been surprised how relatively easy it was to sneak into Hogwarts, but then again, the school wasn't really expecting anyone to go slipping in through the night.

For a moment he considered trying to convince Marcus to attack the school, instead of following with their proposed plan. He mentally shook his head before the idea even began to take hold; it was impossible, with most of the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts. And of course, there was Harry Potter to deal with.

How the Golden Boy had survived a duel with the Dark Lord and actually managed to kill him, Blaise did not know, but it was a fact that could not be overlooked. It could probably be chalked up to sheer luck, but it was safer not to test the hypothesis. It was one of the reasons why he was here, waiting for Draco, instead of walking up the front doors with a dozen more Death Eaters behind him.

He let hope rush through his blood at the thought of his friend. Draco was the ideal leader for the resurrection of the Death Eaters. He was level-headed, born to lead and plot his way to success, and he was a Malfoy. That Lucius Malfoy had failed in his service to the Dark Lord mattered very little to Blaise, because he knew Draco was not his father. He was even better.

The sound of a twig snapping sent his senses on high alert, pulling Blaise roughly out of his thoughts. His eyes flitted everywhere in the semi-darkness, until it landed on a figure similarly wrapped in a cloak like him. It pulled the hood off his face, and relief eased the tension out of Blaise's shoulders. "Draco," he greeted, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. "How have you been?"

"Blaise." Draco inclined his head slightly, a wan smile on his lips, his gray eyes as hard as ever. Blaise was glad to have been able to talk to Draco instead of the others. He knew the Malfoy heir would respond better to him than the others. "I'm as well as can be expected. And you?"

Blaise cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "I've seen better days. It's been difficult to find refuge anywhere. The ministry has been trying to track us down."

He saw Draco's brow furrow together. "Then haven't you put yourself at great risk getting your arse back here?"

Blaise laughed. "Don't worry, I can take care of myself." He studied Draco for a moment. "Your parents?"

He could see Draco stiffen ever so slightly, but his face never faltered, nor did his voice change. "Mother is fine, as far as I know. She is overseeing Father's welfare at the manor."

"So they let you keep Malfoy Manor?"

"Among other things." Draco's voice had changed into the dry, humorless voice he always adopted whenever he had to endure conversations that were trifling to him. "Surely this isn't the reason you came here?"

"No, you're right." Blaise leaned against the oak tree to lessen the stiffening in his legs. "I'm here about our proposal." He looked at Draco. "So what do you say?"

Blaise was surprised to find that Draco was frowning, his eyes focused on something that wasn't really there. "Give me more time to consider."

Was he hesitating? "Time is a luxury we don't have," Blaise said at length, studying Draco's reaction. But there was nothing there, only smooth, pale calmness. "Don't you want your father to be well again?"

"I want a lot of things," Draco's voice was surprisingly soft and haunting. "Some of them I want more than others." He shuddered as he closed his eyes. "But these seem to be the very things I cannot have."

Blaise let concern show in his face as he took a step forward. "Draco?"

Draco looked up, and Blaise stood rooted to the spot. Draco's face had hardened, his lips set in a determined line, his eyes cold iron gray, as if the softness of his voice had been Blaise's imagination. It must have. "I need more time to consider your…proposal. Given the fact that everyone seems to keep an eye on my every move…you understand, don't you Blaise?"

"Of course." Blaise knew it must be true. If he was Potter, he would not even let Draco off guard. "I'll tell Marcus. But we can't give you more than a month."

Draco nodded. "A month is all I would need."

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 8._


	10. Apprehension

(Cat)astrophe

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items" and "monsters" are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character without permission in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's notes: Finally another chapter. I can't tell you how sorry I am it's been delayed for so long._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 9: Apprehension**

Ronald Weasley felt like he wanted to kick something. More specifically, the pale, smug-looking, arrogant ponce-of-a-face that belongs to Draco Malfoy.

It just wasn't fair. He stomped out of the school and onto the sprawling grounds, the sound of crushing grass beneath his heavy footsteps oddly satisfying. Draco Malfoy was a _Death Eater_; Death Eaters were responsible for his brother's death, for Lupin's and Tonks's, for his family's anguish…and Hermione and Lors just expected him to accept Malfoy like nothing happened?

Muttering under his breath about the unbelievable rubbish girls spout off, he headed in the direction of the bent tree near the lake where he and Harry often went to. As he settled down in his usual spot, his mind began to engage into his favorite habit of late: complaining about Malfoy, and thinking up nasty things to inflict on him.

What—his inner self screamed self-righteously—did his girlfriend and that crazy Potions girl see in that blonde git? Ron scowled murderously. Malfoy was an ass, a prat, a pompous thick-headed idiot with the worst blood relatives and social connections. Even the loss of the Malfoy fortune (or most of it) did nothing to abate his arrogance and smarmy attitude. He was still annoying.

And more importantly, he still made Ron's blood boil.

His hatred of Malfoy ran deeper than just school rivalry or a case of bruised ego. Their enmity stemmed from a deep, age-old family-related feud. Their parents hated each other, even their grandparents, and great-grandparents. Since time immemorial the Malfoys have always hated the Weasleys, and the Weasleys hated them right back.

It was something neither Hermione nor Lors could ever understand, maybe even Harry. _They _weren't the ones who were always ridiculed for having the Weasley red hair, the freckles, and the lack of money clearly evident in second-hand robes and books. They weren't the ones who had lost a brother to Death Eaters.

And they _still_ try to talk him into agreeing on a truce with Draco bloody Malfoy! They had been so persistent that Ron gave in and listened to them, but that did not necessarily mean he was agreeing to anything they said.

Ron felt hurt and betrayed that Hermione would actually choose to side with Draco rather than him, but it was a fault of Hermione's personality that he both liked and hated at the moment. She was incredibly smart and kind, and she always tends to see the good in other people and ignore the bad. Ron was sure all he needed to do was show Hermione that Malfoy had not really changed, and she'd be behind him in a twinkling.

But Lors was an entirely different matter. His brow furrowed and his cheeks blushed at the memory of having a shouting match with her one moment and waking up in the Hospital Wing the next. Lors was clearly on Malfoy's side, and she did something that morning which baffled even Madame Pomfrey. The Hogwarts healer explained, even as she looked as confused as he felt, that Lors's spell had literally stopped time, but it was confined only to Ron's body. This meant, the healer said, that Ron was now younger by a few hours than he should be. This didn't bother him at all, but Hermione's eyes bulged when she heard.

When he asked her what Lors had done, she could only shake her head and look as confused as Madame Pomfrey.

Ron looked out over the lake. The giant squid was swimming lazily just underneath the surface, one of its tentacles making long ripples in the dark, glass-like water. His thoughts returned to Draco Malfoy. There must be something he could do to expose the Death Eater's true nature. But what?

All he had, he reminded himself in frustration, was a suspicion. And Malfoy's past transgressions, which mattered little at the moment. He had been tailing Malfoy as much as possible and kept an eye on him whenever they were in the same room, but Ron had not been able to get so much as a whiff of anything that might incriminate Malfoy. He remembered Malfoy's odd behavior at class once when he received a letter, but unless Ron managed to get a hold of it he wouldn't be able to do jack squat.

"I was hoping I'd find you here."

Ron whipped around quickly, drawing his wand, but lowered it almost immediately at the sight of Hermione standing a few feet away. His shoulders sagged with relief. He thought it was Malfoy. "What are you doing here?" His voice was a little hoarse. Probably because he had skipped lunch earlier and had not been able to get anything to eat or drink. A first for him.

Hermione noticed, and she frowned. "Are you alright, Ron? I mean, we didn't see you at lunch."

Ron couldn't stop his eyebrow raising. "We?"

"Lors and I," Hermione clarified. She tilted her head, her eyes slowly turning sharp. "Had you been here all afternoon?"

"Uh, yeah," Ron lied. In truth, he had been trying to follow Malfoy around school, without much luck. In the end he was stuck with peeking out of his bedroom door for hours, waiting for Malfoy to come out of his room—which he did not do, much to Ron's annoyance.

For a moment he thought Hermione would narrow her eyes in suspicion, but he was slightly surprised when Hermione only sat down on the grass beside him and heaved out a long sigh, the furrows on her brow deepening. She leaned her head against his arm. "I guess you're nervous about tonight, too?"

Ron blinked several times in confusion before it hit him. "Oh…yeah. 'Course I am."

Hermione made a noise of agreement against her throat, and took one of Ron's hands into hers. Ron knew she only did this when she was trying not to be upset or nervous. "But Lors said the remedy should work, and Harry will be back to normal tonight."

Ron let Hermione take his hand. "Yeah but…Harry wouldn't be able to remember anything, wouldn't he?" He hoped he kept his voice calm.

Hermione shook her head, dashing away any hopes Ron had of Harry remembering all of Draco's activities in the privacy of his room. Who knew if he was contacting Death Eaters when he was alone and Harry was powerless to stop him? Ron had also suspected Draco of harming Harry, but whenever he got to see Harry he was in good health. No bruises or signs of torture or hexing.

"Should we tell him, then?"

"Tell him what?"

"That it had been Mal—I mean, Draco—who's been keeping an eye on him all this time," Ron replied, watching Hermione's reaction.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, why not? It's the truth, isn't it? And I don't think Harry would mind if he knew."

"Really?" Ron's brows shot up, disappearing into his red hair. "And about how he transformed in the Prefect's Bathroom?"

Even Hermione blushed at remembering Draco suddenly storm through their common room door clad only in a towel and robes, still very much wet, holding up an unconscious Harry crudely wrapped with a bath robe. Draco had told them in hasty, rather flustered words that Harry had changed back into his human body while in the bath. When asked to elaborate, he only gave them a glare and a snapped order to help him with Harry, while his face glowed a very deep pinkish hue.

"Erm…I think we should skip over that part."

Ron sank further into the grass. "That's a good idea."

"Hmm. We'll let Draco explain it himself."

"What?" Ron sat straighter, pushing Hermione off slightly. "Are you crazy? Harry would have brain trauma if he found out that Draco had fished him out of the Prefect's Bathroom wearing nothing but his birthday suit!"

Hermione flushed again, but threw Ron a frown that only deepened as he went on. Putting her hands on her hips she thrust out her chin and said, "Well, what's wrong with Harry knowing? At least he knows Draco had saved his life! And he's bound to find out eventually anyway."

"How can you be so sure?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This is Harry we're talking about, Ron. The moment he gets back he'll want to know what happened. Do you think he'd just let go if we decided to skip over the part where he turned back into a human? It's not something anyone would easily want to ignore, you know."

"But this is different, 'Mione. Malfoy—"

"Draco," Hermione overrode him, her voice tightening, "for your information, has been very decent around me and Lors. And I know he's not been goading you or anything for the past weeks." She sighed in exasperation. "Can't you see he's trying his best, Ron? I really think he's changed. Please," she added in a pleading tone, holding onto Ron's hand. "Can't you even give him just one little chance? Just once?"

_Will it bring Fred back if I did?_ The question burned in his mind, begging to be asked, but Ron only set his lips into a thin determined line and turned his face away from Hermione. His eyes suddenly began to sting, but he blinked back furiously, keeping himself in check. "You don't understand."

Hermione sighed. "You're right, I don't. But I'm trying my best to understand. I want to help you," she smiled encouragingly, holding his hand tighter. "Draco just—"

"No." Ron shook his head.

The smile slid off Hermione's face, replaced by a worried frown. "But Ron—"

"I sad no!" he snapped and whirled to face her, his face contorted by anger. "You can't even imagine how much loosing Fred had hurt! He was my brother, Hermione! And I lost him to Death Eaters like Malfoy!"

Hermione's face was a mixture of shock, horror, and a deep penetrating sadness that twisted Ron's chest painfully, but he stubbornly ignored it. He watched her instead, looking up at him like he had sprouted horns and fangs, until her face was set into a grim frown. "You're right, Ron, I couldn't. That's why—"

"Then shut up and stop pretending like you know everything because you don't alright?!" He turned his back to her and snatched his hand away, glaring at the smooth, black surface of the lake. There was a gasp, a stifled sob, and the rustling of grass. Ron closed his eyes and shuddered, his skin suddenly feeling like ice.

He would have wanted to lean back and feel the warmth of another body, but Hermione was already gone.

o0o0o0o

Harry felt like he was coming out of a dream, or just about to walk into one. He could hear voices somewhere above him, but he could not understand the words. He could see nothing but vague shapes and indistinct colors. He strained his ears to hear and move at the same time, but his limbs felt as heavy as lead.

"Where am I?" he asked, or at least tried to ask. When he opened his mouth all that came out was a garbled slur of words. He coughed, his eyes stinging. His throat felt like it hadn't been used in ages.

One of the voices must have understood him, because it answered, and Harry was grateful he could hear properly now. "Don't worry, Harry. You're in Professor Slughorn's classroom."

_Professor…who?_ It took a few moments for the name to sink in. Slughorn, Potions Master at Hogwarts. He remembered now. He could feel someone pushing himself to sit up, and his head lolled to the side. Harry tried to raise his head, but found that he couldn't do that yet. He groaned in frustration.

Someone chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll be able to get your strength back pretty soon. Just wait until the after-effects of the potion wear off." Something sparked in Harry's head.

"L-Lors? Is that you?" His voice was hoarse, but at least he could talk.

Lors grinned as she set Harry leaning against a table leg. "Welcome back, Harry. Glad to see you remember my name."

She pressed something against his lips and urged him to drink. Harry carefully took a sip. It was just water, but Harry drank gratefully until his throat stopped scratching. He sighed. "Thanks." He narrowed his eyes and looked around. Everything was blurry. "Um…where are my glasses?"

"Here." Someone else walked up to Harry's line of vision and lowered himself somewhere to Harry's right. Something landed on Harry's lap. "I got these from your trunk. Hope you don't mind me rummaging through them." The drawling voice was deeper. Male.

Harry hastened to put on his glasses, blinking several times to let his eyes adjust. "Malfoy?"

"Oh, we're back to last names, are we?" Draco arched an eyebrow coolly, a half-smile on his lips. "And I thought we'd already made a connection."

Harry tried to stand, but the world suddenly tipped, and he sat back on the floor with a wince. "Easy," cautioned Lors. "You're still a bit weak from your transformation."

"Right." Harry looked around. "Where's Ron? And Hermione?" Then Lors's last statement actually penetrated his brain. "What do you mean, transformation?"

He watched Lors laugh uneasily and dart a quick glance at Malfoy, who only looked back at her and said, "Would you like to tell him, or should I?"

The door to the classroom suddenly opened and Slughorn strode in, carrying a large tray laden with bottles of potions. When he saw Harry on the floor with Lors and Draco on either side of him he did a double take and almost dropped the tray on the floor. "Potter! Merlin's beard, this is amazing! The remedy worked!" He slapped a hand to his thigh and beamed, walking over to them and jovially patting Lors's shoulder. "Excellent work, my girl! You're a genius at Potions, you are."

Harry frowned in confusion. He turned to Draco. "Mind explaining what happened?"

Draco gave him a patented Malfoy smirk. "Do you want the long version of it, or just the gist?"

o0o0o0o

Leaning back into the comfortable armchair beside the common room fire, Draco finished his long-winded commentary of what had happened while carefully maintaining a straight face. It was a bit difficult since Harry was training his eyes on him, his brows set into a slight furrow as he listened.

Draco was watching him, too. At the back of his mind he filed away all of Harry's reactions so far: a slight frown on his face and passive silence. None of which tallied up to what Draco had expected would be Harry's behavior, after being Transfigured into a cat, being watched over by his arch enemy, and then turned back into a human, all before Halloween. He tilted his head. "You're not very surprised."

Harry gave him a dry smile. "It must be the shock. Don't worry, I'll be screaming down the halls like a loon soon enough; I just need a bit more time for everything to sink in." He rolled his eyes. "I've been through worse, believe me."

"I, for one, am glad that Harry's taking all of this so well," exclaimed Lors from another armchair. She glanced at Harry and gave him a sheepish smile. "Erm…sorry, Harry."

Harry blinked. "What for?"

"Well…" Lors looked down at her lap, wringing her hands. "If I hadn't been making such a crazy potion you wouldn't have been Transfigured and—you know, you wouldn't be in this mess."

Harry smiled at her. "Hey, no worries. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident." Lors gave him a grateful smile. Harry sat back on the sofa and looked at Draco next.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "I hope you're not expecting me to apologize."

Harry grinned. "I never said it." He looked around the common room. "Where are they?"

The two other occupants of the room didn't have to ask who 'they' were. Draco shot a meaningful glance at Lors, who shifted uneasily in her seat. "Ron and Hermione aren't…on very good speaking terms right now."

Harry blinked in surprise. Another fight? And they were so upset they weren't even there when he got back? He would be lying if he said their absence did not hurt him, but the thought that both of his best friends were in a serious fight was much more important. He sighed and leaned back on the sofa. "It's that bad, huh?"

Lors nodded sadly. "Is it always like this when they fight?"

"Only when it's about one of two things," Harry answered without thinking, and immediately regretted it when he saw Draco stiffen in his seat.

"I think I can hazard a guess one of those things include me." When he saw Harry open his mouth to speak he added, "Don't worry, Harry. I won't go caveman violent on you just because it's true."

Draco saw Harry nod after a while, and in his eyes he saw sadness mingled with understanding. He quickly turned back to Lors.

"I believe Hermione is in your room?"

Lors nodded again, and let out a sigh. "She's been there all afternoon. I want to talk to her, but by the sobbing sounds I could hear from outside the door I think she wants to be alone for a while."

"I'll have Kreacher take dinner up to her later," Harry said.

Lors smiled gratefully. "That would be great."

Draco cleared his throat, and two sets of eyes swiveled to him. "As for Weasley, the last time I saw him he was down by the lake."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

"He was thinking of drowning himself?" Draco answered hopefully, earning him a glare from Lors and a disapproving frown from Harry. "What? I can dream, can't I?"

Lors shook her head in exasperation. "I'll go get him."

Harry made to stand. "I'll go."

"No, you should stay here." Lors looked straight at Harry, her voice firm. "You've just taken an experimental cure, and you're still weak. There might be after-effects I haven't anticipated yet, so to be sure you should stay in the dorms until tomorrow. I don't want you collapsing or turning back into a cat again." She stood up and strode through the door without looking back.

Harry watched her leave with his mouth agape. Draco smirked. "She's been hanging around Hermione a lot these days."

Harry glanced at him, a wry smile creeping up his lips. "I can see that." He looked at the fire. "Did they come back?"

Draco, who had been watching Harry, blinked. "What?"

The smile on Harry's face grew. It made Draco want to scowl. "Those first years who…ambushed you. Did they come back?"

Draco stared blankly at Harry. He had not even spared a moment for them ever since the incident. All his focus had been on Harry. He turned so that his back was to Harry's as he stared out the window again. "No, they didn't."

"That's good then."

Draco shrugged and made a small noise of agreement. He suddenly felt awkward, being in the room alone with Harry. Which was absurd; he had been sleeping in his room _alone with Harry_ for the past few weeks! Why should he get all awkward now?

A small voice answered in his head, and several vivid images crossed his mind. A violent blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. Oh, he knew alright. It was just a matter of trying to keep those things from Harry's knowledge. Draco didn't want to think of what Harry would do if he knew Draco had been taking advantage of him while he was not his…usual self.

One thing was for sure: Draco would die of shame if Harry knew.

"Hey, Draco?"

"What?" Draco answered absently, his thoughts turning more grim by the second at the prospect of being found out. He'd be lucky if Harry hexed him to within an inch of his life. But there was no way Harry would know, right? Lors said he wouldn't be able to remember a thing, so whatever happened between him and Harry would stay a secret, right?

"Do you remember that little trinket you bought for me? The one you wrapped around my wrist?"

"What about it?" Draco frowned, worrying. The cure was entirely experimental, and Lors even told him there might be side-effects she didn't know, but it seems to be working. So the thing about Harry loosing his memory would have to be true.

"Where did you put it? I'm not wearing it anymore."

Draco made a small waving gesture with one hand. "It's upstairs in my room. I took it off right before we went downstairs to Slughorn's classroom. I—" His hand froze in mid-air. He turned around quickly, to see Harry looking at him with an amused grin on his face. "What did you say?"

Harry raised his left hand, to show a bare wrist. "The choker you gave me. Where is it?"

Draco's eyes went round, and for the first time he ran out of words to say. He opened and closed his mouth several times, feeling the blood rushing to his face. "But you…you should have forgotten everything…" he said faintly.

Harry shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. "Funny, isn't it? I remember everything perfectly." He frowned slightly. "I didn't have complete control of whatever it was I'd been doing, though—it was like watching something out of a Pensieve, really—but I'm pretty sure all my memory is still intact."

"All of it?" Draco choked out.

Harry looked at Draco for a few moments. Then he started laughing.

His laughter broke through to Draco, who immediately scowled. He stood up in what he thought was righteous indignation. "It is not funny, Harry!"

"Is to," Harry managed to gasp out between laughs. "You should see the look on your face. I wish I had a camera with me—it's priceless!" After a while the laughter subsided, which was a good thing; Draco's face was now a look of pure murder, albeit a very flushed one.

"Come on, Draco. You have to admit it was pretty funny."

Draco resisted the urge to throttle Harry's neck, instead sharpening his glare enough to cut through air. "Maybe for you it is, but it is an entirely different thing for me," he said through gritted teeth, clenching his fists.

"Alright, alright," Harry said with a placating gesture, his smile softening but not disappearing entirely. It took a few moments, but Draco finally settled back into his chair and sat scowling at Harry. It was apparent his irritation had not disappeared entirely, either.

"So," Harry began, tilting his head slightly and letting it rest on his palm, "you thought I wouldn't be able to remember anything?"

Draco nodded grudgingly, crossing his arms across his chest. "We all did."

Harry stared at the space in front of him, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Yeah, I remember listening to you talk with Lors and Professor Slughorn…right before you made me take the first cure."

Draco harrumphed. "You could have told any one of us." He looked away. "You could have told me."

"How do you propose I do that?" Harry asked. "I was a cat, remember? Cats couldn't talk. And I already told you; I wasn't in control of my own body."

Draco turned his head towards Harry, his eyes narrowed. "So it wasn't your idea that I take care of you?"

Harry shook his head, but the smile on his face widened considerably. "No. Not my doing."

"But why didn't you want anyone touching you?" The words 'except me' hung in the air, and Draco could feel his cheeks go warm. He hoped Harry wouldn't be able to see; the room was quite dim now, with only the fire in the grate and a few candles giving off light.

Harry shrugged, staring at a spot on the sofa that had pumpkin juice stain on it. "Don't cats usually behave that way?"

Draco wanted to answer 'no', but then that would lead to 'why', and that might lead to certain topics he was keen on avoiding for the moment. "Whatever, Harry. You're back now, anyway." He settled more comfortably into the chair and stared at the fire. "You should talk with McGonagall. I'm sure she'd be happy to know you're back. And she'd be more than delighted to return your bed back to your room."

"My bed?" Harry asked blankly. Draco did not reply, and a tense silence followed Harry's question. After a few moments the words sunk in, and Harry had the decency to blush and look away. "Oh. My bed." He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah, I kind of…didn't need it these past few days, huh?"

Draco did not reply. He just kept staring at the fire, avoiding eye contact. He didn't think he could face Harry right now, knowing what he did, knowing that Harry knew.

Harry picked at the stained spot on the sofa. "Draco, about what happened in your room—"

Draco shot out of the chair and headed for the door. "I don't want to talk about it," he replied curtly, his hand already on the knob.

"But—I—hey, where are you going?"

Draco stopped halfway out the door. "I'm going to bed."

"But I wasn't finished talking to you yet," Harry frowned slightly.

Draco tightened his grip on the knob. "We can talk some other time. I'm really tired now." He shut the door behind him and ran up the winding staircase, stopping only when he had closed his bedroom door with a resounding click.

o0o0o0o

Harry watched Draco leave, biting his lower lip to keep from calling him back. It was probably for the good that they leave things as they were. They both needed to sort things out. Harry sighed. He had only been turned back a few hours, but now things were trying to make a mess of his life again. If he was having a hard time, how was Draco managing everything?

Barely ten seconds after Draco left the door swung open again and Lors walked in, a confused frown on her face. "Was that Draco just now?"

Harry nodded, frowning. "Yeah."

Lors stopped where she stood, tilting her head at Harry. A loose strand of orange hair hung close to her cheek, and she blew it out of the way. "I wasn't gone for more than fifteen minutes and you're already fighting?"

Harry smiled humorlessly. "You should have been here when we were younger. It only took five seconds then."

"Oh, witty aren't you?" Lors sat back in the chair she occupied a while ago. "Anyway, I found Ron."

Harry turned to her. "And?"

Lors shook her head. "He didn't do much except grunt and shrug when I told him you were back to your old self. So I told him he'd be freezing his ass off if he didn't get back up here." She sighed. "I don't know it worked, though. He was still pretty much upset."

Harry frowned worriedly. "Maybe I _should_ talk to him."

"That won't be necessary," Lors answered him. "I already talked to a few house elves from the kitchen. If Ron's not back by nine, they'll haul him up here—in ropes and a gag if they have to." She leaned back against her chair. "So what did you two fight about?"

Harry blinked. "Erm…"

Lors rolled her eyes. "Did he say something stupid?"

"No," Harry answered quickly.

"Alright. Did you say something stupid?"

"Uh—not that I recall…"

Lors frowned. "Then what happened?"

"Nothing! We were just talking," Harry admitted.

Lors narrowed her eyes. "Why do I have the feeling you're not telling me everything?" She got up and stood before Harry, who shrank back slightly in his seat. Lors had on a narrowed, suspicious look. "What did you do?"

"I already told you," Harry began, sounding slightly exasperated. "We were just talking."

Lors shook her head. "No, Harry. What did you _do_?"

For a moment Harry frowned up at her, but he knew what she was asking about out. When she continued to bear down on him with sharp eyes, tapping one hand wearing bands of colorful rings against her arm, he sighed. He would have wanted to tell Hermione, but she wasn't there. "I…kind of told him that my memories had remained…intact."

He watched Lors's eyes grow wide, her mouth open in a small 'o'. "They did?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Yes," Harry admitted. "Then Draco walked out on me."

Lors sat back down on the seat, a look of understanding passing across her face. She shot Harry a slight frown. "Haven't you ever heard of tact, Harry? Or discretion?"

Harry looked incredulously at her. "What did I do?!"

When Lors opened her mouth there was a loud crack in the air, and several things happened at once. Harry saw Lors whirl so fast in her seat he thought she would break her neck, and whip out a hand, shouting out a word. Harry had not been able to hear it properly because a bolt of lightning crashed through the tall windows and struck a spot in the carpet near Harry. There was a yelp of pain, and something rolled away from the place where the lightning struck, smoke rising from it.

Only when the ringing in his ears stopped could Harry focus on the thing sprawled on the floor. He gasped and ran towards it. "Kreacher!"

"Holy shit—Oh no," Lors breathed out, rushing to where Harry and his house elf were. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I thought—I was surprised—I really can't stand the way house elves Apparate so suddenly like that—"

But Harry wasn't listening to her. He was shaking Kreacher awake, trying to assess the damage. He didn't think the house elf had been hit directly—the little toga and tea towel he had on was a bit singed on the edges, but there was no open wound. "Kreacher? Are you alright?"

"M-Master Harry Potter…s-sir?" Kreacher coughed weakly, and Harry was relieved to see the house elf move, though feebly. Kreacher smiled as his large, bulging brown eyes landed on Harry. "So it is true—you is back, Master Harry!"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I'm back. You shouldn't be standing up yet, though. I don't know how hurt you are."

"Don't worry," Lors said as she placed a hand on Kreacher's forehead. "I can take care of this."

Her hand glowed blue, and bright green and blue sparks ran through her fingers and into Kreacher's skin, making the small house elf gasp, his eyes rolling. It only took a few moments, then Lors was releasing her hold on Kreacher, sitting back with a smile. "There. All done."

Harry was startled when Kreacher leapt to his feet, a look of astonishment on his face as he experimentally closed and opened his hands and stretched his feet. Then Kreacher was bowing low. "I is thanking you, Miss Ingleton. So very many thanks for helping out Kreacher."

Lors bowed apologetically herself. "I'm really sorry about hitting you with Lightning, Kreacher. I get startled very easily, you see—it's the reason my parents don't have even one house elf in the house."

Harry looked incredulously at Lors. "How did you call up lightning just like that?"

Lors smiled mysteriously at him. "I guess I haven't been telling you everything, either." She looked at her left hand. Harry noticed that one ring—a thick band of yellow-green and white stripes—was cracked in several places. Lors frowned. "Crap. Now I have to replace another ring."

Before Harry could ask her about it, Kreacher spoke up. "I have a message for you, Master Harry. It is from the headmistress."

Harry turned to him. He could ask Lors later. "What is it?"

"She requests your presence in her office immediately."

Harry sighed. He should have expected this. He stood up and helped Lors to her feet. "Anything else, Kreacher?"

If Harry knew what Kreacher was going to say next, he wouldn't have asked. "Headmistress McGonagall also asks that you come with Draco Malfoy."

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 9._

_Pretty please! Review after reading!_


	11. Never Pure & Rarely Simple

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items", "monsters", and other related indicia are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character without permission in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's Notes: Hah, looks like we're back in business, people. Let the good times roll! I actually drafted three different versions of this chapter before settling down with this one (sweatdrop)._

_Regarding a few reviews: Yeah, I've heard a few reviews saying Loraine Ingleton is now hovering over the line between a good, solid character and a Mary Sue character, specially because of her mysterious powers. Please reserve judgment until you see this chapter (and later ones); there is an explanation for this, you'll see. And there's a reason I placed a disclaimer for all SquareEnix indicia._

_Special Shout-out to: **Ciiah, fattoad, Wayward Fool, rina77, Shadow Vampira, **and all those lovely people who have constantly been sending their reviews for every chapter I upload—since the very first one! You guys rock!_

_And to all yaoi fanatics, I recommend you go and watch Junjou Romantica (or read all the graphic novels) because it's all steaming hot boys and steaming hot lovin'! (not to mention really good music)_

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 10 – Never Pure and Rarely Simple**

Rain was pouring down in cold, merciless sheets by the time Blaise Zabini arrived in London. He had no choice but to take the Muggle train to the city—despite his obvious dislike for anything Muggle-related—knowing full well that the Ministry of Magic would be monitoring all Floo networks and known Apparition sites in the densely-populated metropolis. He didn't much like the idea of going to London; the mere thought of thousands of Muggles packed together and flooding the streets was repulsive.

But he had to admit it was the last place the Ministry would expect them to be.

Stepping out of the station, Blaise huddled deeper into his black parka, glad that he had cast spells to make it warm and waterproof before heading out. Only a bare handful of people braved the downpour with him; most were inside toasty warm cafés and shops, waiting for the rain to weaken to a drizzle. Ignoring the sudden gust of wind that tried to hammer rain down his face, Blaise turned left and walked briskly, his eyes scanning the streets surreptitiously.

He passed three pet shops, a fancy Italian restaurant, and countless neon-lighted bars and streetside cafés before finding what he was looking for: a boarded-up flower shop, its display window clouded with dust and white paint peeling on the front door. It would look like an ordinary shop that had fallen on hard times, except for the sign hanging under the eaves. It had a picture of a green snake coiled around a single, long-stemmed rose leaning slightly to one side, the bloom painted a deep red lined in silver. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Always a flair for drama," he muttered under his breath. After all their talk of keeping a low profile and holding all their meetings in utmost secrecy, Flint seemed to have completely missed the point. Was the man confident or just plain stupid?

Blaise slipped into the narrow alley between the flower shop and a tiny store that sold books at bargain prices, cursing under his breath when the rain managed to trickle down the narrow gap of his parka, underneath his chin. It traced chilly rivulets on his chest and soaked his expensive shirt. He was scowling by the time he reached the back of the flower shop. A small mountain of soggy rubbish had accumulated in the corner, and the rain-slicked cement was cracked and pitted, sparse tufts of grass peeking from the small fissures. A metal fence surrounded the lot.

He went to the door, which was almost entirely swallowed by spray-paint graffiti that extended to the brick walls. A coin-sized pendant gleamed dull silver over the door, hanging on a thick, dark thread. Blaise snatched it effortlessly in one hand and inspected it closely. It was engraved with the same drawing of the rose and the snake on the shop sign. Blaise sighed again ("More of the drama, good Lord…") as the pendant grew warm in his hand, and the snake moved, turning its tiny head to look at Blaise with narrowed eyes.

"It's me," Blaise said audibly, raising an eyebrow. The snake flicked its tongue twice before nodding; it curled back onto the rose's stem before going still. The coin began to cool in his palm. Blaise pocketed it just as the door clicked open, and he let himself inside.

The smell of several years' worth of neglect greeted him as he crossed the threshold. Blaise could hear water dripping from his parka, but he could see absolutely nothing. The door had closed and locked itself when he got inside. Throwing caution to the wind, Blaise took his wand out, competent of his ability to disable any magical trap, and said, "_Lumos_."

He was in a hallway wide enough for two people to cross, the wallpaper faded and stained, peeling at the edges. As he walked his footsteps were dulled by the thick carpeting of dust over the hardwood floor. He blinked several times to adjust to the light before heading in deeper, his eyes focused on the plain-looking door at the end of the corridor.

The door was locked. "_Alohomora_," he chanted. The door shuddered, glowing green for a moment, before going still. Blaise tried the knob, but it did not budge. Frowning, Blaise fished the coin from his pocket. It grew warm in his hands again and shimmered a pale blue, turning into a silver key. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from scowling, he turned the key into the lock, and the door swung open silently, to reveal a staircase leading down. The key in his hands grew warm one last time before disintegrating into dust.

Holding his wand aloft, Blaise took the stairs one at a time, his mind trying to organize his thoughts. None of his fellow Death Eaters at present knew Legilimency, but he did not want to arrive scatterbrained _and_ wet at the meeting. A hundred worries rushed to the fore, not the least of which was Draco's request for more time—a precious commodity that they could barely afford themselves.

Of course he had tried persuading Draco to act immediately. But trying to change Draco's mind when he was already firmly set on a course of action was like trying to teach a dragon to come when asked for: it was downright impossible. Try to push too hard and the dragon would most likely snap you in two without batting an eyelash.

What was Draco planning to do? Blaise had to admit that he doubted the Malfoys when they willingly surrendered to the Order of the Phoenix that fateful day when the Dark Lord was killed—however hard it was to believe—by no other than Harry Potter the 'Chosen One'. They had enough time to escape, but instead of running the let themselves be caught.

It was only afterwards, when the Malfoys had been spared from Azkaban that Blaise understood. His Aunt Narcissa saved Potter's life to save Draco's, and in so doing gave her son the opportunity for a second chance—or failing that, a chance at revenge. Loosing a large part of their wealth and honor was inevitable, but it gained the Malfoys a way to slip back into relative safety, to plan and regroup.

Amazingly, the Order and the Ministry had all but dropped suspicions against Draco and his family, regardless of the negative reception. The public did not take too kindly to the fact that the Malfoys had been let go without more severe punishment, but they grudgingly left them alone. What was more, Draco was allowed to attend one last year at Hogwarts with Potter. It was more than any of them could have hoped for, and the remaining free Death Eaters eagerly awaited for Draco to make a move.

If it had been him, Blaise would have killed Potter the minute an opportunity presented itself. But two months had already passed; Harry Potter was still alive.

Perhaps Potter was heavily guarded still? Blaise reckoned that was a possibility. Maybe that was what stalled Draco and forced him to change plans, plans that required a month to be executed without a hitch…

_Nevertheless, the others won't take kindly to this news. Especially Flint._ Blaise frowned at the darkness ahead trying to see, his wand light illuminating only two steps ahead of him. Although the former Slytherin Quidditch captain had proven his sufficiently competent leadership skills as their renegade group's head—at least until Draco could join them—Blaise still had suspicions about Flint's involvement.

For one thing, it wasn't like Flint to just up and take the reigns when the risks were too high. Blaise knew he loved to be on the winning side—he remembered how furious Flint had been when they lost the Quidditch Cup to Gryffindor—but he was no fool. Flint never took chances, especially when his life was on the line. He was a Death Eater true, but he showed his support in the shadows, safe from scrutiny and suspicion. Taking up the task of leading their small and (possibly) only remaining group of free Dark Lord loyalists was very dangerous, not to mention extremely risky. Their chances of being caught were high; the Aurors outnumbered them seven to one, and every single Ministry official was on the look-out for them. They had limited resources, and they were on their own. Almost all the odds were stacked against them. Although the promise of rich rewards and unbridled power appealed very much to everyone, saving one's skin first appealed even more at the moment.

So why did Flint volunteer to be their leader?

Of course, no one objected. In fact, Blaise knew everyone had been relieved when Flint came upon them while hiding at some small Muggle town near Bristol and practically appointed himself. They all wanted to free the others, but no one wanted to be blamed if they failed.

_We're all Slytherins._ Blaise mentally rolled his eyes in disgust. _It's not like I could expect any better._

A small cloud of dust stirred as his feet touched the landing, dulling his footsteps. Ahead was another door, this one polished smooth so the dark wood varnish gleamed in the light. Its silver knob did not have a spot of dust on it, and light spilled from the crack underneath.

"_Nox_," Blaise whispered in the darkness, and knocked three times.

There was a loud, cracking noise and a pop. A diminutive house elf appeared before him, shaking so terribly his ears wobbled, carrying a lamp in one hand. He was hiding his large eyes behind thin, small fingers. He was wearing a blue tea towel with the black shield and white curved dagger of the Parkinson family, underneath a blood-red Lycoris flower that was Pansy's own sigil. When Blaise shifted his footing, the house-elf squeaked in fear, but dutifully lowered his hand to see who had arrived.

"M-Master Blaise, sir!" the house elf exclaimed in obvious relief, his brown eyes shimmering. "Guilly is so happy it is you, sir. Guilly was very very scared, sir—but Guilly is a good house elf and does what he is told. Mistress Pansy orders me to check who comes to the door to warn them if it is the others or—or—" Guilly whimpered in fear and shook his head, his ears flapping.

Blaise let the scowl melt from his face, forcing a small smile. Guilly was Pansy's personal house-elf, an expensive gift from her parents the Christmas before last. He was quite young compared to most house-elves, but he was quite eager to please, and followed Pansy's every order to the letter. It goes without saying that Pansy was quite fond of her little servant, and often took him with her when she went away. But to make him do something so dangerous…?

"Guilly, did Pansy order you to do this for her?"

Guilly nodded, looking balefully up at Blaise. "But Master Flint orders Mistress to make me do it, and she was angry, but Mistress does it all the same." Guilly whimpered again. "I don't l-like Master Flint, sir, oh no. Guilly is scared of him."

Flint again. Just how much trouble was the idiot going to make for them? "No one likes him very much, Guilly."

Guilly nodded, as if understanding. "Mistress does not like him, either." He bowed once, low enough for his pointed nose to touch the floor. "I is going back inside, Master Blaise. You can open the door, now. Guilly has removed the traps for you."

Blaise resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. He almost had half a mind to go barging inside when Guilly told him about Flint's order. "Thank you."

The house elf disappeared with another crack, leaving Blaise alone in the darkness. He took three deep breaths to prepare himself, and turned the door knob.

All of them were already there. The room looked cramped with five people in it, despite the fact that there was barely any furniture. A fire leapt and crackled in the red brick fireplace, its warmth welcoming after the freezing rain outside. Blaise ignored four pairs of eyes as he strolled over to the hearth, shrugging out of his parka. He took out his wand and flicked his wrist; the parka floated onto the coat rack on the wall. As he spread his palm over the fire he said, "It's rare to see everyone so early."

Someone snorted. Blaise did not have to turn around to know it had been Millicent Bulstrode. "We're not early; you're just late," she replied dryly in her low, gruff voice that would fit far better with a muscle-bound man rather than a woman. Although, Blaise thought, considering that Millie looked a lot like a bulldog ready to bite, the voice probably suited her pretty well.

Blaise smirked at the fire, glad that nobody could see his face as yet. Millie was always in a foul mood these days. "Really…did something good happen to make everyone eager to come?"

Millie grunted. "Stop beating around the bush, Blaise. You know why we've been waiting for you to drag your pompous ass over here. What did Draco say?"

"That's right. We're all eager to hear what the incorrigible Draco Malfoy had to say to us."

Blaise involuntarily stiffened at the sound of Marcus Flint's voice, sarcasm heavy in his tone. Blaise turned around coolly, his face betraying nothing, as he looked at all of them.

In the past, Blaise had come to realize that they had subconsciously arranged themselves in a room according to rank. During their Hogwarts days, all meetings like this were focused on Draco. The Malfoy heir always sat in the center, Blaise on his left and Pansy on his right. Crabbe and Goyle had always been behind them, the rest scattered about. None, however, sat as close to the center as Blaise and Pansy. There was always a space between the three of them and the rest, like an invisible wall.

After the defeat of Lord Voldemort, no one had dared sit in the center. It was like a public secret: no one thought it aloud, but everyone knew that it was the place reserved only for Draco. As the weeks passed however, the arrangement had grown tangled, the circle destroyed. Now only Flint sat in the center while everyone else sat around him, a small space between. Blaise noticed that the space was getting wider and wider with each meet.

A frown appeared on Blaise's face before he could stop it when he realized that Flint was smiling at him in amusement, his dark eyes shining with it. It gave Blaise a sense of dark foreboding; it was as if Flint knew something that Blaise didn't, and he found it extremely funny. The only thing Flint found amusing was authority over everyone else. Not a very reassuring thought.

_What the bloody hell are you up to, Flint?_

"So tell us, Blaise." Flint leaned back on the only couch in the room, stretching his legs. The others were either standing or sitting on spindly, three-legged stools. "What did Draco say?"

Blaise's eyes flickered to everyone else in the room. Gregory Goyle was standing in a corner of the room, his large hands thrust into the pockets of his dark robes, his dull, deep-set eyes staring first at Flint, then at him. Goyle had been out-of-sorts since Crabbe's death and Draco's surrender, obeying any order given to him without a second thought. Millie was standing to the left and a few paces behind Flint, her face in a scowl directed at everyone.

The only other occupant in the room was sitting motionlessly on a stool nearest the wall, her face blank, but her sharp eyes taking in everything. Pansy Parkinson was dressed in impeccable dark green robes, her wand lying on top of her lap. Guilly was standing beside her, clutching at one of the stool legs as if it were a lifeline, looking fearfully at the humans. Blaise caught Pansy's eye and saw her brow furrow ever so slightly, before her eyes went back to watching everyone in the room. _Do not provoke him._

Blaise took the only other stool that was not occupied and pulled it right next to Pansy. While arranging the hem of his robes Blaise said, "Draco seems to be well; I was surprised to find out that no one is keeping a close eye on him. He didn't have any difficulty slipping into the Forbidden Forest to meet me. He tells me that they're still monitoring him though."

The tension in the room eased visibly at his words. Millie's scowl actually lessened to an extent, and Goyle shifted in the corner, his eyes now staying on Blaise more frequently. But Flint was still smiling amusedly, as if he had expected this.

"And?" prompted Pansy beside him, her neck turned slightly to face him. Her face still betrayed nothing, but her eyes were sharper now. "What did he say about the plan?"

"He asked for more time," Blaise replied, his tone measured.

Flint's smile slipped a few notches. "How much time?" he asked.

"A month."

"That's impossible!" Millie exclaimed, voicing out everyone's general thought. "We might get caught if we wait that long." Flint did not look even remotely amused now.

Blaise turned to Pansy, who had drawn her eyes to her lap, her face contemplative. Although Flint was their leader, Pansy was their strategist. Everyone waited for her to speak. Finally she looked up, a slightly troubled frown marring her face. "Did Draco say why?"

Blaise shook his head. "He didn't reveal any of his plans to me. We were only able to talk for a short while. They've become stricter with curfew at the school." He sighed. "I tried to sneak in, but the Forbidden Forest was the farthest I could risk without detection. They set up more wards around the school this time."

"If he's having trouble with killing Potter, one of us could lend him a hand," said Millie, trying to look thoughtful but only ended up with a sort of grimace.

"If that was the case, he would have said so," Pansy replied calmly. She bit her lip in concentration, then shook her head. "He must be planning something that involves quite a lot of effort and secrecy on his part, if he could not even tell Blaise." She turned to all of them. "We must trust Draco in this."

Blaise nodded without complaint. Goyle only stood there watching, while Millie continued to frown, although she did not complain. Flint, however was an entirely different matter.

Blaise could tell with one look that Flint was angry. His mouth was twisted into an unpleasant scowl. "If we wait a month, we might be dead," he said flatly, his eyes hard. "Draco Malfoy or no, we have to act now while we have a chance."

Their daring plan was to rescue the incarcerated Death Eaters, most importantly Bellatrix Lestrange. Draco's aunt was the only Death Eater remaining that had been part of the Dark Lord's inner circle who had the magic and the knowledge of bestowing the Dark Mark on initiates. If they wanted Draco and his parents back, Bellatrix Lestrange was the only one left capable of doing so. And she would know what to do next.

"There are already rumors spreading that they are going to let the Dementors give the Kiss to all the Death Eaters captured, once they manage to herd every one back into Azkaban," Flint continued. Everyone turned silent at this piece of news, even if it was rumor. Sometimes, rumors had a funny way of turning up true. "The more we wait, the less likely we'd be able to rescue them."

Millie shifted. "I still say we ask Fenrir Greyback for help," she muttered.

Flint snorted, rolling his eyes. "And risk getting torn to pieces by that werewolf? The Dark Lord was the only one he was ever afraid of. Haven't you heard what he most favors as his prey? Besides, it will be hard to track him down; he might be hiding in the mountains somewhere for all we know."

Blaise turned to Flint. "What of news from the Ministry?"

Flint grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Nothing unusual. They have two new faces; a husband and wife team. Apparently, they were requested to help gather the Dementors. They've started breeding all over Britain—a lot of Muggle towns and cities have had strange weather lately, with fogs blanketing whole acres of land for days."

"Aurors?" asked Pansy.

"No. At least, I don't think so. They might be powerful though," mused Flint. "As far as I know, no one has been able to successfully herd more than ten Dementors at a time without at least a team of Aurors on the job. And the Ministry is expecting these two to do it all by themselves."

"Who are they?" Blaise asked.

"Daryl and Mai Ingleton."

"Mai? What kind of a name is that?" came Millie's gruff voice.

Flint shrugged. "She's a foreigner. They have a daughter who transferred at Hogwarts this year. That's all I know, though. I haven't been able to dig up anything new. And the people I keep casting the Imperius on have become increasingly difficult to corner. The Ministry keeps changing their shifts."

"Hmm. I wonder…" Pansy mused. "Perhaps she is the reason Draco could not move as freely as he would have hoped. Their daughter might be keeping an eye on him."

Blaise nodded. "It's possible." He looked straight at Flint. "But we still need Draco for this, or the plan will not work." Their original strategy needed six people—each part needed a pair working cooperatively: one pair to lead the escape, one pair to act as back-up, and another pair as look-out. With Draco absent, only one person would be able to lead the escape, and that was too risky when they were trying to break out of Azkaban, filled with Aurors as it was at this time.

"Fine," growled Flint. "We give Draco his month. But I'm not waiting any longer than that."

"Patience is a virtue, isn't it, Marcus?"

Everyone had their wands out and pointing at the door in a blink. All except Flint, who merely turned his eyes to the black-hooded figure that had suddenly appeared in the room without so much as a noise, until he spoke in a deep, oily voice that seemed to chill the air.

Blaise could feel his heart hammering loudly in his chest, fear spearing into his gut, making his hand shake. It wasn't because the man—that voice was _definitely_ male—had appeared out of thin air. There was something else. Blaise could practically feel it all the way from where he stood. The air had grown colder, and the fire in the grate had shrunk considerably, as if the man's presence sucked the light from the room. The shadows had grown darker, thicker somehow. Blaise found it harder to breathe.

Pansy was doing no better beside him. Her whole arm was trembling even as she pointed her wand straight at the stranger, her face contorted with a frown. She was starting to sweat, and her free hand clutched at her robes tightly. Blaise's eyes scanned the room. Goyle was backed further into the corner, his own wand aloft, but his dull eyes were now wide, never leaving the new arrival. Millie had fear written all over her face, and she stayed way back, her face pale and already shining with sweat.

Flint laughed from the couch. "Lower your wands; he's my guest." Nobody listened to him.

"Who are you?" Blaise fought to keep his voice from shaking. He scowled at the stranger, taking heart in the fact that they outnumbered him. "How the hell did you get here?"

The stranger turned its hooded face to Flint. "You ought to have warned them, Marcus. Nobody much likes surprises these days." He wheezed a laugh that sounded like dry leaves scraping against stone; it made Blaise's skin prickle.

Pansy's eyes darted from the hooded figure to Flint. "What is the meaning of this, Marcus?" she demanded.

"He's my guest," Flint repeated loftily, waving a hand in a gesture of impatience. "Now lower your wands before you hurt someone."

"Which, if I may add, will not be me," added the stranger in a cool, unruffled tone.

They reluctantly started lowering their wands. Blaise kept his within easy reach. He had never been able to trust Flint from the beginning, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start now. In the corner of his eye, he could see Pansy lowering her wand, but she let it stay in her hand, her fingers tightening on it. No one let their eyes stray off of the stranger in the hooded cloak.

When everyone's wands were out of sight, the stranger began to walk forward, stopping only when he was in the middle of the room, nearest Marcus. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said in his oily voice, taking off the hood of his cloak. "I am Adelbrand Listerman."

Listerman's voice contrasted sharply with his face. He looked to be in his late twenties, with reddish-brown hair tied low at the nape of his neck, ending in a short tuft. His face was smooth and angular, with a patrician nose and dark eyes. He was wearing an impish grin that women might find attractive, but only gave Blaise a sense of foreboding.

Unsure eyes flickered from one Death Eater to another. Only Flint and Listerman looked truly at ease. Blaise gave a start when he felt something tug at his robes, but eased slightly when he realized it was Pansy. She was clutching the hem of his sleeve so hard her knuckles were white. Wordlessly he placed a hand on her arm and felt her body loosen considerably. Crabbe had returned to slouching in the corner, one hand still holding his lowered wand. Millie had also lowered her wand, but instead of remaining silent where she stood she rounded on Flint with hands on her hips, trying to hide her fear with indignant anger.

"What's the meaning of this, Flint?" she growled. Blaise secretly admired the way she pulled off her menacing scowl when they were all ready to jump out of their skins seconds before.

Though she looked sufficiently intimidating, Flint did not seem affected in the slightest. Far from it; Blaise suspected he even looked amused. "There's really no need for all this tension." Marcus Flint's voice was smooth.

Pansy stirred beside Blaise. "You know better than to include someone in this circle without everyone's consent." Her tone was cool with anger, her face rigid.

Flint allowed himself a smile. "Which is why I brought Adelbrand here—to introduce him to you. After all, he is the reason why we've gathered to release the others in the first place."

Pansy frowned, first at Flint, then at Listerman. "I don't understand."

Flint gestured a hand towards his companion. "Adelbrand is a necromancer."

Gasps broke through the room. Even Millie looked pale and horrified. Necromancers were few and far between, considered dangerous, their Dark Art of manipulating the dead a cruel and evil thing. No one who ever dealt with necromancers came back with their lives…or their souls. Except the Dark Lord.

The necromancer seemed to have interpreted the abrupt silence correctly, because he chuckled and said, "Yes, I am the necromancer your Dark Lord sought out all those years ago. We created his army of Inferi together." His voice seemed to slither against Blaise's skin, and he shivered.

_He had met the Dark Lord when he was…but he looks no older than thirty!_ Blaise inwardly cringed at the thought of what Listerman must have done—what he must be _doing_—to maintain his youth. And then something the necromancer said caught his attention. "But I thought the Dark Lord created the Inferi by himself," he blurted without thinking.

The effect of those words on Listerman was instantaneous. His dark eyes seemed impossibly darker—like twin pit holes—and his lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Pansy's house elf whimpered in fear as the room grew noticeably colder; the fire in the grate died out completely. Everyone stepped back, away from the necromancer. Even Flint stood from his seat, wary.

"He said that, did he?" Listerman advanced so swiftly towards Blaise that nobody had a chance to move. One moment he was standing next to Flint, and the next he was towering over Blaise, one hand wound tightly around his neck.

Pansy screamed. "Blaise!"

Her shout stirred the others to action. Wands were whipped out again. The house elf moaned on the floor, shaking its head. But the necromancer ignored all of them. He had his eyes narrowed at Blaise, watching him struggle futilely against his grasp, gasping for air. "Your _Dark Lord_," he sneered, "would never have become who he was if it wasn't for **me**! I taught him everything he knew of the Dark, Arcane magic."

He suddenly flung Blaise away as if he weighed no more than a doll. The ex-Slytherin hit the far wall with a loud thud, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Pansy was instantly by his side. "Blaise?"

Blaise groaned in response. His body throbbed with pain, and it felt like his arm was broken. More than that, he was cold with terror. If the necromancer had tightened his fingers around his throat just an inch more he'd have been no more than a lifeless corpse by now.

Pansy hovered over him. "Are you alright?"

Blaise opened his eyes and closed them again. The room seemed to spin and tilt dangerously. Afraid that he would throw up if he opened his mouth, Blaise nodded shallowly instead.

"You bloody bastard," Millicent growled out, her wand trained on the necromancer's chest. "You had no damn right—"

"I had _every_ right to do what I did, Death Eater," Listerman cut her off, his voice cold and oily once more. There was no trace of his anger anymore, as if he had not just attacked Blaise. "You are all here for one reason alone—to do what is necessary to resurrect Voldemort." He ignored the flinches upon hearing the Dark Lord's name. "You," he pointed at Flint—the only person who had not drawn his wand yet again—who scowled when his name was called. "Where is the boy?"

Flint seemed livid by the fact that he did not hold the authority any longer, but otherwise did nothing except answer. "He asked for more time."

Listerman frowned, displeased. "We are short on time, Marcus. If you want to have what you desire…"

Flint's scowl became dagger-like. "He'll be here," he snapped. "He'll come of his own will."

Listerman did not look convinced. "I do not care how, so long as he is present before all the preparations are complete."

The Death Eater smirked. "Just remember our agreement."

"So long as you keep your end of the bargain," the necromancer replied smoothly with a slight inclination of his head.

Then Pansy spoke up. "What agreement are you going on about, Flint?" she asked warily, still by Blaise's side. She frowned. "Are you talking about Draco?"

"Naturally. We were discussing the Malfoy boy," Listerman answered, making her blink with surprise. She had been expecting them to deny it.

"Why?" she asked, in spite of her instincts to remain silent. Beside her, Blaise gripped her forearm in warning.

Listerman gave a cold smile that made her skin crawl. Something about the necromancer made her wary. "Why Miss Parkinson, I thought you would never ask." The necromancer walked over to the hearth, snapping his fingers. The fire suddenly blazed to twice its height, orange and scarlet flames almost jumping out the fireplace. Flint, who was nearest, hissed and stepped away, glaring at Listerman but saying nothing.

The necromancer paid him no attention, instead gazed at the flames before thrusting one hand into the fire as if stroking it. Pansy's eyes widened. The flames that touched his skin turned black as night. "Draco Malfoy serves a pivotal role in the resurrection of your Dark Lord," Listerman continued. He cupped his hand around a small ball of black flames and brought it up to his face as if in fascination. "You could say he has an important part to play…one that only he could do."

Pansy frowned. Leaving Blaise in the care of Guilly for the moment, she stood clutching her wand at her side. "What do you mean, necromancer?" she asked slowly.

"Exactly what I said, Death Eater."

Pansy narrowed her eyes slightly. "Aren't you a Death Eater, too?"

Listerman laughed humorlessly, his voice like dead leaves rustling against gravel. "Do you take me for a fool, girl? I have no need to join your little club of ambitious power-hungry pawns."

"Then why help us?" Millie asked gruffly, her eyes suspicious.

"I am merely helping myself," the necromancer replied. He threw the small ball of flames back into the hearth. "Whether or not one—or all—of you die is of little consequence to me." He paused for a moment, a smile twisting his lips. "Unless it tickles my fancy to use either your corpse or your pathetic souls to obey my every whim…I suggest you do your best to stay alive." He laughed again, and this time everyone could feel chilling fear grow in the pit of their stomachs, the fire in the hearth suddenly a paltry thing.

o0o0o0o

Harry Potter could feel his stomach churn uneasily as he led the way to McGonagall's office, trying his best to refrain from looking behind to where Draco was walking stiffly not five paces away. He sighed inwardly; maybe he had acted too soon. Draco certainly thought he had, judging from his earlier action.

_Or maybe he thinks it would have been better if I had not brought it up at all._

Harry sighed again, loudly this time, as he raked a hand through his hair, making it seem even messier. He was more inclined to suspect Draco was thinking of the latter.

"If you keep doing that your hair might start falling off." Lors's voice cut through his thoughts. He saw her tilting her head at him, a slight frown on her face. "Something wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he lied. "Why are you coming with us, anyway?"

Lors shrugged. "I want to ask Professor McGonagall something." She fell in step with Harry and leaned closer. "You should talk to him you know."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. "He doesn't seem inclined to talk to me at the moment if you haven't noticed."

Lors's eyes darted behind them; Harry wished she wouldn't do that. He was sure Draco would know they were talking about him, and then he'd be even more furious.

"I don't see how that's going to stop you," Lors mused under her breath.

Harry snorted. "Newsflash Lors: Communication is a two-way process." He eyed her seriously. "You've never seen Draco angry, have you?"

"Not like this," she admitted. "What happened between the two of you when you were still a cat must have been something pretty serious for him to be pissed off like this. Why don't you just apologize and get it over with?"

Right on target. Harry winced at her words just as a blush dusted his cheeks. "It's not that simple."

"Hmm…" Lors looked skeptically at him, but Harry wasn't going to tell her anymore than that.

When they arrived at the headmistress's office, McGonagall was seated at her table, reading a letter. She glanced up at the sound of footsteps and ushered them to sit. There were three high-backed chairs already placed facing her desk.

Harry took the far left chair. Draco immediately took the one on the far right. Lors took the chair in the middle with a roll of her eyes.

A relieved smile crossed the headmistress's worn face. "It's good to have you back, Potter. I take it Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley know the good news?"

"Er…"

Lors saved him the trouble. "No, headmistress, but they'll know soon enough. They've just been…busy."

McGonagall nodded, adjusting her glasses. "Very well. And what brings you to my office, Miss Ingleton?"

Lors appeared to be hesitant. "Has there been any word from my parents?"

The headmistress raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you been sending them owls?"

Harry was curious to see Lors fidget in her seat. "Well, um…I was kind of hoping they left you with a message…or something." Lors grimaced. "I'm not really used to using owl post," she confessed.

Harry tilted his head at her. Surely Lors wasn't afraid of owls? "Why not?"

Lors flushed a bright shade of red, suddenly finding the hem of her sleeve very interesting. He could hear her mumbling about "getting surprised" and "shocking the poor birds" and "neighbors complaining" under her breath. When Harry remembered the incident with Kreacher earlier, something clicked. A grin threatened to creep up his lips.

Lors saw Harry's mouth twitch, and she blushed further. "It's not funny!" she said hotly. "Because of me almost all the owls in our neighborhood have gotten their feathers singed at least once, and they never went near me again," she nearly wailed. "It's not my fault I get surprised so easily!"

"Sorry," was all Harry managed to say. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lors scowled at Harry even when she was blushing like mad. "You won't find it funny if I accidentally zapped Hedwig, would you?" That shut Harry up pretty quickly, and Lors sniffed at him.

The headmistress pursed her lips at the bickering but did not comment. Instead she turned back to Lors. "Your parents hadn't left any messages with me, Miss Ingleton. But I'll mention it next time I see them."

"Ah…could you please tell them that I need two new rings? A few of mine cracked," she added, holding up her right hand, where two bands—one pink and the other yellow green and white—were visibly cracked in several places, although still intact.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow again, but did not question Lors's strange request. "I'll see what I can do," she said instead. She turned to Harry, who had calmed down enough to sit in his chair wearing only an amused grin. "So. How are you feeling, Potter?"

Harry grinned wider. "I feel fine. Great, actually."

"Hmph." Lors shot him a sharp glance before sticking her nose up in the air. Harry only chuckled.

The headmistress ignored it. "Then I suppose you won't object to going back to classes tomorrow?" When Harry said he didn't, she turned to Lors. "Is there any possibility of a relapse?"

Lors turned thoughtful for a moment. "I have to do regular check-ups on Harry for at least three days before I can be sure, professor."

Harry turned to her, unhappy about the prospect of being monitored closely. "Can't Madame Pomfrey do that?"

"Does Madame Pomfrey know what to look for?" Lors asked back. "Besides, it won't be a physical. I'm going to check irregularities in your magic. There would usually be a sudden influx in your magical pulse if the cure had not been able to stabilize your magical core. I'm going to keep an eye out for that."

Harry nodded even if he did not understand a word she said. As he turned to face the headmistress again his eyes caught the sight of Draco sitting stiffly in his seat, his eyes firmly glued to a spot in the air in front of him. His face was set in a blank expression. Harry was willing to bet Draco was stubbornly refusing to even glance in his direction.

"On to business then," McGonagall began crisply, and Harry reluctantly turned his attention to her. "We have found the renegade Death Eaters."

The three students stiffened in their seats, their faces bearing drastically different reactions. Harry's expression was one of slight surprise that quickly turned into a serious, contemplative frown. Lors merely looked worried, but Draco's face had turned ashen, his eyes tight and hard gray.

It was Harry who broke the silence. "Where?"

"You would be surprised," replied McGonagall. "Muggle London."

"What?" Harry did not think he had heard right. London was perhaps one of the most tightly guarded places in Britain at the moment. Why would Death Eaters hide there?

As if reading Harry's mind Lors murmured audibly, "Of course. It's one of the last places the ministry would think to look."

The headmistress nodded. "That is what we suspect. Reliable informants have sighted Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Vincent Crabbe walking through the city disguised in Muggle clothes. There were seen entering an abandoned building that had a flower shop storefront. This was four days ago."

Draco's heart sank with each word, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. Now he knew why he had been called in. He caught a glance of Harry looking at him with a slight frown. It seems he knew the reason now, too.

The eye contact was quick, hardly longer than one heartbeat. But it was enough to make Draco look away, shame and a whole storm of other emotions trying to break through the surface, making him bite his inner cheek. Harry looked back at McGonagall as if he didn't see anything. "Who else was there?"

The headmistress sighed, shaking her head slowly. "They've seen no one else. But we suspect there are more."

"Who?"

"Marcus Flint for one. He hasn't been seen in his family's manor for several months now. Blaise Zabini for another. A few people from the ministry had demanded for Draco Malfoy's arrest, believing him to be part of this mess, but I already told them that he has not set foot outside of Hogwarts since the start of term." She made a disgusted sound in her throat.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco freeze in his seat. Lors and McGonagall did not notice. Harry wanted to ask Draco if he knew about his friends' motives for running from the Ministry, but he wanted to do it somewhere more private. "Have the Aurors begun mobilizing?" Harry asked McGonagall instead.

A slightly annoyed and frustrated look crossed the headmistress's face. "No, and there lies the problem. Some of them are still busy with apprehending the remainder of the werewolves that have escaped—it seems that Greyback had chosen to abandon the others rather than risk his own safety—while the majority of them have been guarding Azkaban."

Harry frowned. "What about the Dementors? I read in the _Prophet_ that the ministry's gone to round them up?"

"But not to let them in Azkaban again," McGonagall replied. "They've decided to see sense and agree with the fact that letting the Dementors loose in Azkaban would be a very great risk." She leaned forward and peered at Harry through her glasses. "Because you're here, Shacklebolt had decided in your place to order the Dementors be destroyed."

Lors raised an eyebrow. "He decided in Harry's place?"

Harry waved a hand distractedly at her, not wanting to be derailed from the conversation, but replied just the same with a quick glance at her. "I was appointed head of the Order after the war, but Shacklebolt's my second-in-command. He takes care of all the paperwork and the politics." He turned back to McGonagall, missing the shocked expression on both Lors and Draco.

"How will they manage to do that? The Dementors are scattered in so many places it would take almost double the number of Aurors now to shepherd all of them."

McGonagall gestured a hand towards Lors. "That's the reason the ministry has called for experts."

Harry looked at Lors with confusion.

"My parents," Lors explained. "My father, especially. He studies magical creatures. My mom goes with him everywhere, but she's mostly a Potions expert."

"Your parents work for the Ministry?" Harry asked, surprised.

"At the moment," Lors answered with a shrug. "What? You never asked me."

"The Ingletons specialize in working on dangerous beasts," added McGonagall as she straightened in her seat. "They are currently rounding up the Dementors and destroying them."

"How do you kill Dementors anyway?" Harry mused out loud. From his experience, the _Patronus Charm_ only worked to keep Dementors at bay. It must take powerful spells to even harm a Dementor. He looked at Lors.

"I have no idea, so don't go asking me," she said as soon as Harry turned his eyes on her. She then asked McGonagall, "If there is nothing else headmistress, can I be excused now?"

"Actually, there is one other thing," McGonagall began before narrowing her eyes slightly. "Madame Pomfrey has reported about an unusual hex you threw at Ronald Weasley a few days ago." Her narrowed eyes turned sharp. "Poppy says it was something that actually stopped time, but confined the effect to Weasley's body only. Is this true?"

This time both Harry and Draco turned to give Lors looks of surprise, although Draco's was more subdued. Lors flushed a healthy shade of red and bit her lower lip, fidgeting uneasily in her seat. "That was…er…"

"Need I remind you, Miss Ingleton, of the rules that had been laid down by your parents when you first stepped inside Hogwarts?"

Lors winced and shook her head with an abashed expression. "No, headmistress."

"Not only that, but you caused injury to a house elf!"

Lors looked up quickly. "But that was an accident!" she protested. "I was taken by surprise!"

"It's true," Harry backed her up. "And Kreacher is fine now—Lors healed him."

"Which means that she broke the rule not twice, but three times," McGonagall said in a cold tone. She did not look pleased at all as she stared down at Lors. "Miss Ingleton, because of your actions I have decided to suspend your use of the private laboratory set up in your dormitories."

Harry was relieved. _Not working in the lab isn't so bad—at least she didn't get detention._ When he regarded Lors though, the expression on her face made it clear that she thought otherwise.

Lors looked like a man doomed to die, her face paling so much it would have rivaled Draco's. She stood up abruptly and took a step towards the headmistress's table. "No…" she gasped out. "Please, Headmistress McGonagall, anything but—"

"I'm sorry Miss Ingleton. But your parents told me explicitly to ban you from the lab when a situation like this arises." McGonagall pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her eyes unwavering and hard. "I believe they warned you of this before the start of term."

Harry watched Lors bite down on her lower lip and looked away, her body quivering slightly. He felt sorry for her; Potions was the one thing she excelled in and had a passion for, and to ban her from the lab… Harry imagined it would have been as worse as if he had been suspended from playing Quidditch.

He looked at McGonagall. "Isn't there any other way, professor?" he pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Potter, but there is nothing else. If Miss Ingleton wants to use the lab again, she would have to take this up with her parents."

"But what if Potter gets turned back into a cat?"

Harry couldn't help the startled look on his face when Draco spoke at last. He was looking straight at McGonagall though, and did not spare Harry a single glance as he continued. "Lors already said there might be a possibility of a relapse. If that happens, she would need the us of that Potions lab."

Lors looked up with tentative hope, her eyes flickering between the headmistress and Draco. McGonagall turned thoughtful for a moment. Finally—

"No. My order still stands. If indeed Potter goes back to being a cat, then she will have to make the potion with Professor Slughorn in his own lab down at the dungeons." She looked at Lors. "That will be all, Miss Ingleton."

Lors looked about to say something, but she closed her mouth and nodded curtly before leaving the room in near-tears, the frustration clear on her face. Harry sadly watched her go, wanting to comfort her at the very least. He chanced a glance at Draco, who was looking back the way Lors left, a slight frown marring his face.

As the doors clicked shut, Harry turned to McGonagall with a frown. "Wasn't that a bit too harsh, professor?"

McGonagall responded to Harry's disapproval of her decision with a hard, flat look. "Miss Ingleton knew there would be consequences to her actions. And I could hardly let her go without punishment when she has clearly broken the rule."

"What rule?"

McGonagall frowned at Harry's tone, but answered just the same. "Before transferring here, Miss Ingleton's parents had set certain rules which she had to follow. They asked me explicitly to see to it that their daughter follows them."

Harry frowned, perplexed. "Why?"

"I think, Mister Potter, that you could leave handling the students of this school to me," the headmistress replied crisply. "For now, I must ask both of you to pay attention." She turned deadly serious, looking at Harry and Draco straight in the eye. "We believe the renegade Death Eaters are planning to rescue the others already in Azkaban."

Harry reeled back. "That's suicide! They're outnumbered and out skilled—and getting inside Azkaban isn't exactly a walk in the park. They'd be caught or killed before they take five steps."

"Unless they have enough wizards and witches, and they know what to expect."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean…?"

McGonagall clasped her hands together and set them on the table. "The rest of us in the Order have been discussing this thoroughly, Harry. A few have been keeping an eye out in the ministry. We think the Death Eaters may be spying on us or worse, they have an insider."

That certainly changed things. But even as he began making a mental list of possible suspects in the ministry, Harry still could not understand why the Death Eaters would attempt such a risky and mortally dangerous plan. "Professor, even if they _did_ manage to rescue the others, what then? It's not like they have Voldemort to lead them. He's dead."

"Perhaps they believe he could return to the land of the living."

Three pairs of eyes looked up to see Albus Dumbledore's portrait stirring in his gilt frame.

Harry almost gave a start. He had completely forgotten about Dumbledore's portrait, focused as he was on McGonagall. He noticed that most of the portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were empty; a few had their occupants leaning against the frame, fast asleep. Only Dumbledore's portrait was awake, looking gravely at them.

For a moment Harry wondered why the usual twinkle in the previous headmaster's eyes were absent, until Dumbledore's words actually sank in. Alarm filled his face. "That's not possible! We destroyed all the Horcruxes."

Both McGonagall and Draco bore looks of confusion that Harry ignored at the moment. No one except Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew about the Horcruxes; they did not think it was necessary to tell anyone else. Emerald eyes that were suddenly sharp and piercing looked up at the portrait hanging over McGonagall's head. "Voldemort is dead," Harry said in a final, hard tone.

Dumbledore inclined his head in polite agreement. "That is correct. The destruction of the Horcruxes made him mortal. Tom is well and truly dead."

Harry's shoulders eased visibly, but he was still wearing a confused frown. "Then what do you mean, they believe he can come back? Is that even possible?" He directed the last at Dumbledore and McGonagall, who answered.

"There have been stories. Myths most of them, about powerful wizards able to raise the dead and bring them back to life."

Harry grimaced. "It sounds like Inferi to me."

McGonagall nodded. "It may well have been something similar to creating those vile things," she answered in barely concealed disgust. "I can only think that Dark magic is behind it."

Harry pondered on this a moment. "Even if those myths are true, I don't think anyone is powerful enough to do this sort of thing."

"That is what the rest of the Order thinks as well," McGonagall said. "Which leaves us with only one conclusion. Those children posing as Death Eaters are clearly at their wits' end. Attempting to rescue the others is their last, desperate attempt to wrestle power into their hands and escape punishment for their crimes."

Harry nodded slowly, processing this. What the headmistress said fit the bill. _If I was in their shoes, I'd do anything to save my life, even grasp at straws. With no Voldemort to lead us and no army to back us up, we'd be desperate._ He looked at McGonagall. "We have to stop them," he said with alarm, realizing just how dangerous the escaped Death Eaters could be. Desperation could drive them to do anything, _anything_ at all, with no thought to the casualties they could cause.

"Quite," McGonagall agreed. "But to do that, we must know what they plan to do." She glanced at Draco. "Which is where Mister Malfoy comes in."

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 10._

_More notes: Because of a guilty conscience, I made this chapter very long. And the explanation about Lors's background will unfold more on the next chapter. Again, feel free to send me your reviews or questions!_

_To Ciiah: My friend, I'm sorry for the heavy delay. I hope this chapter makes up for everything._


	12. Fruitful Conversations

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items", "monsters", and other related indicia are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character without permission in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's Notes: Nothing much to say, really. Um…aside from the usual begging and pleading for reviews…I hope you enjoy reading! This chapter delves deeper into Lors's background. And also, more Harry/Draco scenes. Ah yes, and an attempt to include a bit of crack-ness into the fic, just to break the drama. Tell me if I screwed it up royally or not (just don't kill me!)._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 11 – Fruitful Conversations**

Hermione heard Lors before she even saw her come in, the door slamming loudly before a distinct sniffling sound broke the silence. Because she had been crying not too long ago, Hermione knew right away that Lors was upset.

Blowing her nose for what must have been the hundredth time and wiping away the tears, Hermione poked her head through the drapes of her four-poster bed and asked thickly, "Are you alright?"

Although Lors had her back to her, Hermione could see she was wiping her face with her sleeves. "Yes," Lors hiccupped. "I'm f-fine."

Momentarily forgetting her own troubles, Hermione crawled out of bed, still wiping her face with a handkerchief. She sat beside Lors, who had curled up into a ball on the floor against the bedpost, leaning down slightly. "What happened?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice. She had never seen Lors upset before. The girl was normally energetic and cheerful. What could have happened?

An uneasy feeling suddenly churned inside Hermione, and she automatically gripped Lors's shoulder. "What happened?" she asked again, more urgently this time. "Did something go wrong with Harry's cure? Is Harry alright? What—"

"H-Harry is fine," Lors cut in before Hermione could finish her next sentence. She smiled weakly and sniffed. "The potion worked. He's back to normal now."

"Oh." The worried frown melted from Hermione's face as she sat straighter, leaning against Lors's bed. "Then…why are you crying?" she asked in a softer tone.

Lors bit her lower lip and exhaled a breath. "Professor McGonagall forbade me from using the Potions lab on the second floor."

"What? Why?"

Hermione listened with a slight frown as Lors explained. It was quite obvious that she felt horrible about it; she kept sniffing and biting her lip to keep from crying. When Lors reached the end of her tale she sobbed once and dabbed at her eyes with the end of her sleeve. "Draco and Harry tried to change her mind, but she wouldn't budge."

"Well _I_ don't think that's fair," Hermione said in a slightly miffed tone. She knew how important the lab had been to Lors; she was like Neville had been with his plants. "But why would she ban you from the lab? It would have been better to give you detention—not that I want you to _have_ detentions of course."

Lors chuckled weakly at that. "My mom probably thought detentions wouldn't do me much good," she said, still sniffling. Her nose was quite red by now. "I was home-schooled, so I think giving me detention would have been more of a novel experience than punishment."

Hermione quirked a smile. Yes, she could imagine Lors getting excited over detention. With a sigh she patted Lors's knee. "If it's any consolation, I think Ron deserved whatever it was you did to him, not that I'd want you to do it again." She paused. "Erm, just out of curiosity, but what _did_ you do to Ron? Was it some sort of wandless magic?"

Lors gave a morose sigh. "It's more than just wandless magic. It has something to do with my…condition."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Your condition."

Lors nodded. "Haven't you ever wondered why I suck at everything except Potions?"

The question struck Hermione. "Well, no. I thought you just had a hard time adjusting. You did say that you have been home-schooled before coming to Hogwarts."

Lors made a face. "Yes, and there's a reason for that. My condition makes it near impossible for me to do even the simplest of spells." She sighed. "When I was ten my parents tagged me along on one of their explorations. Mom and Dad always do, whenever they don't have a project that needed their attention." Her face took on a faraway look. "We climbed the Himalayas."

Hermione leaned a bit closer to listen. "And?"

For a while Lors didn't speak. She was staring blankly at the air in front of her, lips slightly parted. Hermione waited a few seconds before nudging her friend. "Lors?"

Lors jumped slightly at Hermione's voice, her face confused for a moment. When her eyes focused on Hermione she settled down. She smiled rather forcedly. "Sorry. I was spacing out, wasn't I?"

Hermione gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's fine."

With a grateful look Lors continued. "The trip to the Himalayas didn't go as smoothly as planned. There was an accident, and I ended up with a very unstable magic core. These rings," she said while holding up her hands, "act as shields that help stabilize my magic."

Hermione eyed the colorful bands on Lors's fingers. "Why so many?"

Lors smiled wryly. "Safety precaution, in case I needed to use my magic in an emergency."

"Oh. Well, two of them are cracked," Hermione noted.

Lors grimaced as she nodded. "Yeah. I have to replace those as soon as possible."

"What happened to them?"

"Well…the rings chip or break when I use my magic in its raw, unstable form. It's different from the way we usually do spells." At the look on Hermione's face she added, "Like what I did with Ron. No matter how much you look, I doubt you would find that particular spell in any book anywhere."

Hermione flinched. She _had_ tried finding the spell, but came up with nothing. Lors, however, did not notice. "Did you make the spell?"

"What? No, of course not!" Lors sounded genuinely shocked at Hermione's question. "Whatever gave you the idea?"

A slight blush appeared on Hermione's face. "It was just a thought. You _do_ love experimenting with things."

Her friend chuckled. "Yeah, but with Potions ingredients, not spells." She scrunched up her nose. "Except when I try bottling the spells, but that's entirely different."

Not quite, Hermione wanted to say, but instead she said, "Did your parents teach it to you?"

"Ah, no. You could say I earned it," Lors answered evasively. "I really can't go much into details—it's a long story." She glanced out the window. "Plus it's getting pretty late. We should go down and get dinner."

It was pretty obvious she was avoiding the topic, but Hermione let it slip. Besides, she had concerns of her own…one of which was her headstrong boyfriend. "You go on ahead. I'm really not that hungry at the moment."

Lors was already up and halfway to the door when she stopped and looked at Hermione. She pursed her lips in a thoughtful manner, titling her head slightly. "He'll come 'round to his senses sooner or later. Ron's just a bit slow on the pick-up."

Hermione smiled wanly. "I know."

"But if you want to speed things up I could bash his head in for you," Lors offered with a too-innocent smile. "And I won't use magic, either. Just my hands and an old-fashioned crowbar."

Hermione smiled a bit wider this time, but did not laugh. "Thanks, but I don't think that would work. Ron might think Draco put you up to it."

Lors sighed exasperatedly, shaking her head. "So that's what has been making Ron such an ass. Again."

Hermione nodded sadly, the smile fading. "Where is he?"

"Last time I checked, Ron was brooding over by the lake," Lors answered. "I asked the house elves to haul him back here if he's still there by bedtime. I figured he might be, seeing as he's too stubborn for his own good."

"No, he'll come back by himself. He won't be able to stand being hungry for too long."

"Hmm. You have a point." Lors paused. "Are you sure you won't come down to eat? Come on, we'll sit together."

Hermione hesitated for a moment, until her eyes caught sight of Lors's face. "Alright," she answered as she stood, her smile loosing its stiffness. "I'll come with you."

o0o0o0o

Harry quickened his steps to catch up to Draco, who nearly ran out into the corridor the moment the stone gargoyles sprang to life to let them pass. Swallowing the frustrated growl that threatened to slip, he stared hard at Draco's back. "Will you slow down? I need to talk to you."

Draco did not even look back. As they turned a corner, he began to run.

Harry cursed under his breath and sprinted after him. He knew he was quick, but he was surprised to find that Draco was almost as fast; or maybe something just effectively spurred him on. Judging from the way he stiffened when Harry called his name, both were probably true. The thought gave Harry an extra burst of speed, and he finally caught Draco by his wrist, pulling him around as he did so.

Draco hissed at the contact, his gray eyes hard and glaring as he spun to face Harry. "Let go of me!" He tugged on his left hand, where Harry had a firm grip.

Harry's face was set. "No. Not until you talk to me."

Draco ignored Harry's words at first, trying to pull out of his hand. When he finally stopped struggling he growled and raised his chin haughtily. "There is nothing to discuss between us, Potter."

Harry was sorely tempted to shake Draco silly, but knew that would only make things worse. Instead he gritted his teeth and ground out, "Yes, there is. You are avoiding me, Draco. Don't even try to deny it."

Draco sniffed and looked away. "I'm not."

"Then why?"

"What do you think?" Draco snapped, his head turning so quickly Harry thought his neck might snap. "Do you expect me to be happy after learning that you…when we all thought you wouldn't remember anything…" He seemed to be struggling with his words, his face taking on a bright pink hue. He closed his eyes, almost in pain. "And I even let you go and…and…"Draco shuddered and turned away from Harry.

A moment of silence. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Draco."

An uncharacteristic snort from Draco. "What makes you so sure I'm embarrassed about it?"

Harry raised an eyebrow even though Draco couldn't see it. "I've been living with you for the past few weeks. I think it's safe to say I know you more than anyone else at this school."

Blood rushed back to Draco's face. "You don't have to remind me," he snapped again. He tugged on his left hand once more. "_Now_ can you let go of me?"

"No."

Draco turned around, his face a thunderhead. "Why not?"

"I haven't finished talking with you yet," Harry replied. He began to drag Draco down the empty corridor.

"Well _I'm_ finished talking with you," the ex-Slytherin drawled out even as he let Harry pull him. He glared, though. "Where are we going?"

"I want to talk somewhere private."

"There's no one out here except us, Potter," Draco pointed out in a flat tone. "You can't get anymore private than that."

Harry glanced at him. "Not for long. Dinner would be over in a few minutes."

Draco sighed irritably. "Just make this quick. I have things to do, Potter."

"Will you stop calling me that? You were fine with calling me Harry before."

"Alright, _Harry._" The sarcasm practically dripped from Draco's drawling tone.

Harry rolled his eyes, but did not comment. He quickly led them both to an empty classroom on the fourth floor, closing the door with a soft click and locking it for good measure. When he turned around Draco was leaning back against a table, glaring cold gray daggers at him. "What now, _Harry?_ You said you wanted to talk, didn't you _Harry?_"

Harry roughly ran a hand through his messy hair. "Can you stop being an annoying prat for a moment and just listen to me?" He sighed in aggravation. "Look. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Like hell you didn't have a choice." Draco's tone was brittle. "You could have just shut up about it and pretended nothing happened!"

The vehemence in his voice startled Harry. "But that wouldn't have been fair to you."

Draco laughed bitterly. "Nothing in life ever is." He gave Harry a mocking smile. "Let me guess. You thought all would go just fine if you told me you remembered every little humiliating moment I had to endure, right?" His smile dropped. "Well you're absolutely wrong." He straightened and made for the door.

His hand was already closing around the door knob when Harry spoke. "I never thought of humiliating you, Draco."

The ex-Slytherin turned and froze. Harry was already walking towards him, his face so serious and his green eyes piercing, that the words Draco wanted to say died in his throat. His hand dropped away from the knob.

Harry steadily closed the distance between them. "Yeah, I remember. Everything, like you said. You never let me starve, you were always patient, and you weren't such a git. At least, not as much as I thought you would be." When he stopped, he was only a foot away from Draco, his face inscrutable. His emerald eyes seemed to glow in the semi-darkness. "And you saved my life."

His last statement sparked a memory, and Draco opened his mouth before thinking. "That's because you saved me. From those first years."

Harry's eyebrows rose slightly. "So you took upon yourself to save me from drowning…as repayment?"

Draco smirked. "What do you think? I'm not a Gryffindor. And I hate being indebted to anyone, least of all you."

Harry flinched as if struck, and guilt made the lie more bitter on Draco's tongue. But this was something he knew, and knew well: the rivalry and hatred he had with Harry was something _known_, unlike the unfamiliar territory he had been drowning in for weeks ever since this horrible catastrophe started.

The brightness in Harry's eyes dimmed, his face hardening. "I see. At least now I won't be such a nuisance to you will I, Malfoy?" His voice was cool, and Draco fought hard to maintain the smirk on his face.

Harry moved around Draco and opened the door. Draco turned his back to him. "For what it's worth though," came Harry's voice as he slid the door shut behind him, "thank you." And then, in a more whispered tone, "I'm sorry."

Draco gritted his teeth, hating himself. The voice inside his head mocked him. _I knew it, you were a sick masochist from the start. You just love putting yourself in misery, don't you? Not only that, but you've hurt Harry's feelings, too._

Damn it all to hell! This is the only thing I know to do!" Draco growled angrily, kicking a chair violently in the process. He sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Shit. What the hell do you expect me to say?"

Outside, Harry pushed himself off the doorframe, his eyes half-closed. "I don't know anymore than you do, Draco," he whispered before heading for the dormitory.

o0o0o0o

Hermione and Lors felt much better after dinner, and they were in high spirits as they settled comfortably in the common room. They both agreed to wait for their fellow dorm mates before heading off to bed. They were worried that, aside from Ron, both Harry and Draco were absent in the Great Hall, too.

"I'm more worried about Harry and Draco," Hermione admitted after they had sat staring at the fire for a long moment. She pulled her legs underneath her on the armchair and frowned. "Ron is predictable, but those two…"

Lors glanced at her friend from her seat on the long couch big enough for three, where she lounged comfortable with her head leaning against an arm. "Do you think they might be dueling somewhere right about now?"

Hermione's frown deepened, but then shook her head. "No," she said at last. "Although I don't know Draco that well, I'm sure Harry wouldn't let things go that far." Lors had told her earlier during dinner about Harry's confession of retaining his memories as a kitten, and that Draco had been avoiding him because of it.

"But you said they have been rivals since first year."

Hermione nodded. "Not only that, but Harry was the one who killed V-Voldemort, and Draco is an ex-Death Eater."

Now Lors was confused. "Then why…?"

"Because," Hermione explained with full conviction, "Harry is never one to hold a grudge. And he believes Draco deserves a second chance, no matter how horrid he's been." Hermione smiled. "And I agree. I mean, Draco is nice, once you get to know him."

"Mm." Lors nodded and grinned. "And they look good together," she commented casually.

Hermione craned her neck to stare incredulously at Lors. "What?"

Lors's grin grew wider. "You haven't noticed?"

"But I thought it was because Draco was just feeling awkward about being around us so much," Hermione mused aloud.

"Oh, it was more than that," Lors said with a wriggle of her eyebrows. She told Hermione everything she had noticed so far, including Draco's uncharacteristic blushes, both the boys' attitude towards each other, and—

"Draco's nosebleed?" Hermione repeated dubiously. "From when Harry turned back to human? You can't be serious."

Lors cackled evilly. She was clearly enjoying this. "I _am_ serious, Hermione. Trust me, I _know_. Draco fancies Harry a lot. I just don't know if he's playing hard-to-get, or he is in denial." Her cheeks were flushed, and she giggled on the couch.

Hermione was looking oddly at her. "Erm, if they _do_ end up together that's well and good, but why are you so…ecstatic about it?" _At least she isn't depressed anymore, but this is really…weird._

"Aw, come on, Hermione! Think about it," Lors sat up, her face alight. "Draco is drop-dead gorgeous when you get past the sneer and the cold eyes, and Harry is potential eye candy once he has properly-fitting clothes on."

Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her bushy hair. "Eye…candy?"

Lors waved her hand impatiently at that. "Just listen. Imagine Harry and Draco together."

Now Hermione was frowning. "I don't see anything wrong…"

Lors rolled her eyes. "I mean _together_ together, Hermione. Use your imagination."

And she did. With very little material to go with, she had—with a slight flush of embarrassment—come up with an image of how she and Ron would have looked like if they had been snogging. Then she replaced herself and Ron with Harry and Draco—

"Oh!" A hand went to her cheek, which was now a bright red, her eyes wide. She looked at Lors, who grinned smugly at her, a glint in her eye.

"Like I said, they look good together."

Hermione nodded her head dazedly. "Yes, but it's more than that. They look so…so…" She suddenly had a strange urge to giggle.

Lors's grin widened expansively. "You mean cute? Ridiculously hot? Downright sexy?"

Hermione went beet red again, her hands suddenly busy with a loose thread on the armchair. She nodded once.

Lors cackled again. She threw her arms up in the air and whooped. "And the BL community has another convert join its ranks!"

That made Hermione look up. "The BL community?"

"Boys' Love." Lors looked very excited. Hermione's only response was to blush again while Lors continued by saying, "Strangely enough, almost all members are female, but that's beside the point." She stood up and grabbed Hermione's hands in hers, shaking them profusely. "Welcome to the club, Hermione!"

Hermione gaped at her. "You mean there's actually a community for…erm…that?"

"There are hundreds, but I meant what I said figuratively," Lors replied. She was still grinning from ear to ear. "Back to Harry and Draco though. I believe Harry's going to be _seme._ What do you think?"

"Um…"

"Oh, right. You're new to this," Lors slapped a hand lightly to her temple while giving Hermione an apologetic look that quickly turned to a bright smile. "I know! What you need are reference materials." She walked briskly to the door.

Reference materials? "What do you mean?"

Lors turned around, her body already halfway through the door. "Have you ever read a Japanese graphic novel before?"

o0o0o0o

Harry was halfway up the winding stairs when he heard something that sounded like a scream. His head whipped up in alarm. It came from the common room.

_Hermione! Lors!_

He ran up the steps, wrenching the door wide open, his wand already in his hand. Bright emerald eyes were already scanning the room for any sort of danger. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

Hermione and Lors were gawking at him in shock, their eyes glancing from his face to the wand in his hand. Harry stilled when he noticed they were both fine; the fire in the hearth crackled and gave a particularly loud snap, which seemed to stir the girls into action.

It would have been comical, had Harry not been confused. Hermione immediately jumped up and stood in front of Harry, hiding Lors from the boy's vision. She gave a nervous laugh and smiled at Harry. "Harry! You're back! I mean, Lors told me—and I'm really sorry I hadn't been there when Professor Slughorn had administered the potion—but you're here!" She smiled again, her face slightly flushed.

"Er…that's alright…" Harry said slowly, trying to peek from over Hermione's shoulder. He could see that Lors was stuffing things into a bag hastily. Hermione sidestepped, and her bushy brown hair obstructed his view. She was smiling innocently at him, though. Too much. Harry stepped back and frowned slightly at her, lowering his wand. "What were you two doing?"

"Oh, nothing," Hermione answered, her voice an octave higher than normal. "We were just…um…"

"Reading!" Lors answered from behind her, slightly out-of-breath, a bag slung over her shoulder as she stood. She smiled at Harry and gave a small wave. "Hey, Harry. Have you talked to Draco, yet?"

The question wiped the frown from Harry's face, replaced with an uneasy expression. "Er…no. Not exactly. I—hang on," he turned to Lors with an accusing expression. "I was asking you what you two were doing." He shot the same look at Hermione, who looked away guiltily.

Lors huffed and stood beside Hermione. "It was nothing, really. Just a bit of reading."

"Reading?" Harry repeated, clearly not believing anything she said. "I heard screaming, Lors."

"We were just…er…caught up in what we were reading!" Hermione answered quickly. She lowered her eyes when Harry turned to stare at her. The flush on Hermione's face deepened.

Harry looked at them for a moment longer before sighing with a shake of his head. He pocketed his wand and scratched at his head. "Well, that's alright I guess. I thought you had been attacked or something. Scared the crap out of me." He flopped down on the nearest armchair.

"Sorry," both girls apologized simultaneously. They shared a look, and then grins threatened to split their faces. They giggled.

Harry noticed all of this with a rueful expression on his face. "You two seem to be getting along quite well," he remarked.

"Oh, we just found something we both agree on," Lors replied with a shrug, the smile never leaving her face. "So anyway. I was asking about you and Draco."

Somehow he could almost imagine both Lors and Hermione's ears pricking up, waiting for his answer, although their faces looked rather…calm. It made Harry's hackles rise. "Er…"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry, just say it," Lors said rather impatiently. "Have you talked with Draco?"

"Uh…define 'talked'."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So you haven't apologized?"

"I did!" Harry said defensively. "Wait. How did you know about it?"

"Lors told me," Hermione replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world for Lors to be telling her everything that transpired while she had been locked up in the room she shared with the other girl. "So you apologized?"

"Yes, but he's still angry." Telling it out loud effectively dampened Harry's mood, and he frowned. "He doesn't want anything to do with me, that's for sure."

The girls shared another look, and they settled back on the long couch. Lors shrugged off her bag and put it down on the floor. "Did you hear Draco say that?"

"No, but—"

"Did he tell you to stay away from him?" Hermione cut him off.

"No, but I thought—"

"Then you thought wrong," Lors said, overriding whatever it was Harry was going to say. "Draco may be mad, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want anything to do with you."

Harry looked strangely at her, then at Hermione, who was nodding in agreement. "What made you an expert on the subject?"

"Oh, this and that," Lors replied airily. "Still, you have to consider, Harry. Draco isn't really the kind of person to express what he feels outright."

"He's a Malfoy," Hermione added. "You know how they're like. I—we think Draco's just having a hard time. You might have caught him unawares with the fact you remembered everything that happened while you had been a cat, you know."

"She's right," Lors nodded. "Like—oh I don't know, you might have seen him in nothing but a towel once. Or you found out that he snores." She looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "Or was it something else?"

The question made Harry's cheeks burn. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, too quickly for his liking.

Both Lors and Hermione suddenly had a predatory look in their narrowed eyes, a smile creeping up on their faces. Harry suddenly felt a very strong urge to bolt from the room. "Is there something you're not telling us, Harry?"

"I—" Harry swallowed audibly. Flashes of what had happened between him and Draco appeared in his mind. He could feel his cheeks grow warmer with every second.

_A long, low groan drifted from the bed, and Harry jumped back, hissing. There was the sound of someone shifting on the bed. "No…Harry…"_

_Harry's ear twitched at the sound. He knew that voice, and he had remembered being called that name. Slowly, he approached the bed, parted the drapes, and slipped inside._

_Harry climbed up the bed with practiced ease, still on all fours, until he hovered directly above Draco, who was tossing and mumbling in his sleep, beads of perspiration rolling off his forehead. Harry gave a happy mewl at the sight of Draco, recognizing him instantly, his tail waving widely in the air._

"_Meow!" Harry smiled, looking down at Draco. But the former Slytherin only moaned again, shaking his head, muttering incoherently. _

"_P-please…don't…don't…stop…"_

Hermione and Lors watched as Harry made a noise against his throat, like a moan and a gurgle mixed together, before jumping out of the armchair and hastily leaving out the room, saying something like needing to get dinner before the door closed fully behind him. Both of them stared blankly at the door for a few moments. It was Lors who spoke first.

"I knew it, "she crowed triumphantly. "Something is going on between them."

Hermione shrugged. "I thought we already established the fact that they both fancy each other?"

"That's not what I meant," Lors replied with a giggle. "I meant something is _happening_ between them."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in to Hermione. "Oh," she exclaimed, her eyes wide. She shared a grin with Lors. "Do you think something happened already?"

"I'm sure of it," Lors smirked.

"I still say Draco's the _seme."_

Lors turned to look at Hermione. "Is that a bet, Granger?"

It was Hermione's turn to smirk. "Ten galleons say Draco is _seme_, Ingleton."

"And I say Harry's _seme_," Lors replied with a smirk of her own. "That's a deal." She took up her bag again and took out a book. "In the meanwhile…want to borrow the second volume of _Gravitation_?"

Hermione's smile widened. "Sure."

o0o0o0o

_End Chapter 11._

_Note: The term "seme" is the Japanese term that is used to connote who is the…dominant…in a male/male relationship. In cruder terms, he's the one who tops._

_Please review after reading!_


	13. A Smile Connects Me to You

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Warnings/Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items", "monsters", and other related indicia are copyright to SquareEnix. Loraine Ingleton is the intellectual property of Moraine Lendreth. Use of the character without permission in stories not penned by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_Author's Notes: Please read the omake chapter after this._

_Also, you may have already noticed that a few characters (thankfully, none of them having main parts in the story) are alive, when in cannon they are already dead. I'm not too sure about Amelia Bones…did she die? I have this vague notion that she did, but I'm not sure. Ah well, that's fanfiction for you._

o0o0o0o

**Chapter 12 – A Smile Connects Me to You**

True to Hermione's prediction, it was his growling stomach that convinced Ron to head back to the castle. He had arrived rather late to the Great Hall, and would have had only dessert if Dobby had not appeared at the end of the Gryffindor table where they usually sat down to eat.

When the house elf spotted Ron walking towards him, he broke into a smile and began hopping excitedly on the spot, the small tower of knitted hats on his head in danger of falling. "Mister Wee-slees! Mister Wee-slees! Loraine Ingleton sends me to find you!" A small group of second year girls burst into a fit of giggles near the house elf, clearly amused.

Ron was disappointed that it had been Lors (and what was worse, that she had sent _Dobby_), and his gloomy mood returned when he remembered why. "Oh. What does she want?" he asked dourly, eyeing the food on the table as he sat down.

Dobby seemed oblivious to Ron's mulishness, still apparently happy to have accomplished his task. "In truthfulness, Mister Wee-slees, she asked us house elves to carry you back—if need be—to your common room if you weren't inside the castle by nine. But Dobby thoughts you would be here in the Great Hall before then, and heres you are!" he chirped happily, gesturing at Ron with his small hands.

Ron's response was a grunt, his face flushing when the group of girls nearby giggled again at the house elf's proud exclamation. "Did she want anything from me?"

Dobby paused, tilting his head. The small tower of hats tilted with him, a miniature and vividly colored version of Pisa. "She did not say, Mister Wee-slees, sir."

The girls giggled _again_. Ron had the mortifying feeling it was because of how Dobby mentioned his name. With an aggravated sigh he said, "It's Weasley, Dobby. W-e-a-s-l-e-y."

"So sorry, Mister Wee-slees, sir—"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Forget it. And uh, tell Lors I'm already here, so you don't need to drag me to the common room." When he glanced back at the table he added, "And can you bring me dinner? There's only pudding left."

Dobby was happy to oblige, and he left with a bow and a small crack, leaving Ron to sulk and return to his depressing thoughts.

"In a rather foul mood tonight, aren't you Ronald Weasley?"

Ron looked up with a start. "Oh. Hullo, Sir Nick."

The ghost hovered on the empty seat beside Ron and scratched at his chin. The gesture made his almost-severed head wobble. "Something the matter?"

Ron shrugged. "Nothing."

"Ah, I see. Nothing." Ron was too busy moping to notice the small, knowing smile on the ghost's face as he watched him. "Might it have something to do with Miss Granger?"

Ron gave another start, spluttering at Sir Nick. "W-what? But how—?"

"Oh, I might be dead, Weasley, but I'm not an idiot. I saw Miss Granger running down a corridor earlier this afternoon. If I remember correctly, she had been out looking for you before that."

"So? That wouldn't mean I had a row with her or anything—"

"She was crying when she came back."

"Oh." Ron's defensive scowl fell. He looked uncomfortable. "She was crying?"

The ghost nodded. "Very much so," he answered delicately.

Ron saw, through Sir Nick's pearly white and translucent body, the second-year girls lean closer to listen. Scowling, he leaned around the ghost and glared angrily at them. "Scram, you meddling little buggers! Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

The girls had the decency to flush before scowling right back, raising their noses haughtily in the air as they left the Gryffindor table. Ron returned to his previous position, grumbling.

Sir Nicholas had been watching him silently. "If I might hazard a guess," he began in a mild tone, "I would say you let your temper get the better of you with Miss Granger."

Ron scowled at him. "Who said I had a temper?" he growled.

The ghost raised an eyebrow and gave him a flat, pointed look.

Ron harrumphed and looked away. "Whatever. It'll turn out alright eventually."

Sir Nick shrugged, his head wobbling again. "Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure," Ron replied. He paused, turning back to the ghost. "Right?"

Sir Nick opened his mouth to answer when Dobby returned with a tray two times wider than he was tall, laden with three helpings each of what seemed like everything that had been served at dinner. Another house elf wearing a tea towel bearing the Hogwarts crest helped Dobby with the tray. "Here is your dinner, Mister Wee-slees!" Dobby squeaked.

Ron's stomach gave another rumble, and he eyed the food being carried to the table with a grateful smile. "Finally. I'm _starving_." He didn't wait for Dobby and his companion to finish passing the food from the tray before grabbing the plate of roast ribs and mashed potatoes, digging at it with a spoon.

The ghost frowned disapprovingly at his lack of table manners. "Perhaps you've never heard of chewing your food, Ronald."

Ron stopped, a spoonful of mashed potatoes halfway to his mouth, and narrowed his eyes at Sir Nick. "Go a-ay, I'b eading."

Dobby chose that time to interrupt, tugging on Ron's robes. "Um…Mister Wee-slees…" He waited until Ron turned to him before continuing. "Miss Ingleton wants Dobby to gives you this." He held up a small note.

Ron swallowed noisily—Sir Nick made a disgusted noise—and took the folded piece of parchment. "Er, thanks."

Dobby beamed proudly at him. "Is nothing, Mister Wee-slees! Dobby must be going now; I is helping Winky with the dishes tonight!" he said, and with a crack he and the other house elf were gone.

Ron turned back to his food, only to find Sir Nick still watching him. "What?" he grumbled.

"Shouldn't you be reading that?"

"I'll read it later," he snapped, taking a large bite of the roast ribs.

"It could be important."

"Oh for the love of—fine!" He pulled the note from his pocket angrily and scanned it.

_I know it's not my place Ron, but Hermione was really upset after she talked with you. Whatever it was that you said or did, __apologize to her__. –Lors _

_P.S. Do it of your own free will, or I WILL MAKE YOU DO IT. Your choice. (And you know I can make you, Ronald Weasley)_

_Oh, and Harry's back._

"She's right you know. You ought to apologize to Miss Granger."

Ron yelped, spilling a bit of pumpkin juice down his robes. Sir Nick had peeked over his shoulder, and the ghost's icy cold breath had Ron jumping out of his skin. "Will you stop poking your nose into other people's business? This is private!" He waved the note angrily in one hand, ignoring the looks from students passing by.

Sir Nick puffed up indignantly. "I was only trying to help you, you emotionally-handicapped fool!"

"Well I don't need your help," Ron snapped. "And I'm not emotionally handicapped!"

Gryffindor's resident ghost rose up in the air, his face furious. "Fine! Seeing as my help is not needed here, I shall go somewhere where I am at least _appreciated_." He zoomed out of sight, nose in the air, almost exactly like the girls moments ago.

"Stupid, nosey ghost…" Ron muttered under his breath, eyes landing on the note in his hand. "Stupid, nosey Potion-freak…" He crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket, quickly finishing his meal before Lors decided to send him another note.

_Hermione was really upset. She was crying._ Ron's stomach churned uneasily, and he grimaced. He went over what he had said to her down by the lake. His grimace turned into a pained frown mixed with self-disgust. Alright, maybe he _had_ gone overboard with his Malfoy-hating, self-pitying rant. But it was all true! Draco Malfoy was—and always will be—a low-life, sneaky Slytherin, and he'd be damned before he would agree to a truce with the stuck-up git!

Ron's foul mood was back by the time he got to the door that led to the spiral stone staircase of their dormitory. Why couldn't Harry and Hermione see that Malfoy was only faking? That he might very well be spying on them? There must be some way to convince them—evidence of irrefutable proof that he had been right all along.

As Ron got to the third floor landing he stopped. There was light spilling from the common room door, and muffled voices coming from inside. He hesitated, the note seemingly burning a hole in his pocket, his anger wavering, giving way to guilt.

Contrary to popular belief, Ron was not a complete dunderhead. He knew that his constant fight with Hermione over Malfoy's (to his opinion) questionable actions was causing a strain over their relationship. If this kept up…Ron winced. He did not even want to go there.

_Apologize to her._ The words Lors had written jumped out at him. He let out a sigh. Ron hated Malfoy, but that was nothing compared to Hermione's importance in his life. That, he supposed, would have to do for now. _Here goes nothing._

o0o0o0o

Both Hermione and Lors looked up from where they had been reading _Gravitation_ on the carpeted floor to see Ron by the open door, shuffling his foot hesitatingly.

The smile fell from Hermione's face, and she quickly turned to the fire cracking merrily in the grate, completely missing the smile on Lors's face, and the flushed embarrassment on Ron's. She huddled her knees a little tighter to herself.

Lors smiled smugly. _Good. At least he's got enough sense to apologize. He may not be so hopeless after all._ "Hey, Ron. Where've you been? I was out looking for you this afternoon."

Ron's brows furrowed slightly. What was she playing at? Wasn't she the one who all but ordered him to apologize? Deciding to play along, he answered, "I was…out. Walking."

"U-huh. Right." Lors rolled her eyes, and Ron glared. "Well, I just wanted to tell you that Harry's fine now. The remedy I created worked!"

_Oh right. She did mention that._ "That's great!" he said, genuinely pleased, the scowl disappearing. He looked around. "Where is he?"

Lors's smug grin turned devilish for some reason. "In your room, I think. He was here half an hour ago."

"Er…alright." Lors's grin was starting to unnerve him. How was he going to start apologizing with her grinning like a maniac?

Just then Lors stood up from her spot on the floor, grabbing several colorfully illustrated books—Ron was too far away to see what they were about—and shoved them into a bag while saying, "Well, I'd better go now. Lots of things to do tomorrow. I'll see you guys later. Goodnight." She gave Ron a pat on the shoulder and an encouraging smile. "Just tell her you're sorry," she whispered lowly as she breezed past, hurrying through the door before Ron could open his mouth.

He stared incredulously at her quick-to-retreat figure. _Just tell her I'm sorry. Right._ He squared his shoulders and went inside, closing the door behind him. _Easy for you to say._

Hermione still had her back to him, and she had not moved an inch. Ron shifted his weight from one foot to the next, nervously rubbing the nape of his neck as he tried to come up with something to say. "Um…"

"You don't have to do this."

Ron stopped. "Huh?"

Hermione shifted slightly, but did not turn around to face him. "You don't have to force yourself to do this. Apologizing, I mean. Lors put you up to it, didn't she?"

Surprise replaced the flummoxed expression on Ron's face. "How did you know?"

"She _did_ hide what she wrote, but I already had an idea when Dobby popped in, telling us you were down at the Great Hall." She sounded like she was smiling, but Ron wasn't sure. She could be crying again, for all he knew. The thought put him on the verge of panicking; he had absolutely no idea what to do if she started crying.

"Oh. Er, right. Well, she did ask me to come and say sorry—actually, it was more like she demanded me to come here—but it's not like I don't want to!" he added quickly. Realizing that he was beginning to blabber, he took a deep breath and tried again. "What I mean is, I feel really horrid for saying all those things…down at the lake. It—all of it was really foul, and really stupid, and—and I was just angry and I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. Mum always said I had to watch my ruddy mouth, you know? But I was just so mad at Malfoy and…well, I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you, too." He paused, scuffing a toe against the floor. "I'm sorry," he added lamely, feeling downright ghastly at the end.

Hermione sighed. "I know."

"Yeah, it was—what?" Ron looked up, to see Hermione looking at him with a sad frown on her face. At least she wasn't crying. Somewhat relieved, Ron took a step towards her. "You…know?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "I know why you hate Draco so much, Ron. I've seen the way he treats you and your family. He's been downright nasty to me too, hadn't he?" At Ron's slow nod she continued. "He's been horrid to Harry, too. And you've already mentioned how your families can't stand the sight of each other. That's why I knew from the start you would have difficulty believing the fact that Draco's trying to change."

"It's impossible for him to change. He's—"

"I _know_, Ron. He's a Slytherin. And an ex-Death Eater."

Ron grunted. "I'm not too sure about the 'ex' part."

A pained expression flashed across Hermione's face. "Please, Ronald. Hear me out first. Remember Professor Snape?"

Ron flinched, but he nodded. How could he forget? All those years he had grumbled and complained about Slytherin's previous Head of House, believing him to be an enemy, when in the end he had sacrificed his own life to save Harry. Even now, guilt ate at him for being so prejudiced against the man, no matter that he had been an insanely strict teacher.

Hermione's own expression reflected Ron's remorse at misjudging Snape. "You and Harry were convinced Professor Snape was spying for Voldemort. Even _I_ had my reservations about him. But now we know better: that he had been a slave to circumstance, and all along he was on our side." She paused for a moment. "I think that Draco is almost like him."

Ron looked at her as if she had gone mad. "Mione, I grant you the fact that Malfoy and Snape were both in Slytherin and that they hated us, but that's where their similarities end. Snape was a half-blood, and he was nowhere near as rich as the Malfoys."

"It's not that," Hermione countered gently with a shake of her head. "I meant Draco was…is a person trapped by circumstance." She looked at Ron with a steady gaze. "I believe—no, I'm sure—that Draco became a Death Eater because he had no choice."

She waited for the outburst that was sure to follow, the vehement denial of her words. Hermione tensed, bracing herself for it…but there was only silence. She looked up to see Ron making his way to the nearest armchair, his eyes frowning at the fire, face red with suppressed anger and twisted with hate. But surprisingly, his mouth was shut into a thin line. "Ron?"

"Proof," he almost hissed through his teeth as his blue eyes locked onto her. "Do you even have proof of this?"

Hermione bit her lip, undecided. Should she tell Ron what she knew? On the one hand it was Harry's to tell, but on the other it could help Ron understand, help him to get over this unhealthy hate of Malfoy.

With a deep, shuddering breath Hermione squared her shoulders and began to talk, about the last time Harry had met Narcissa Malfoy at the Ministry of Magic…

o0o0o0o

Ron climbed up the stairs, lost in a daze over Hermione's revelation. He had never thought it possible. Narcissa Malfoy _kneeling_ to Harry? If it weren't for the serious look on Hermione's face, Ron would have suspected she had been Confunded.

A wry snort escaped him as he remembered the look of pure shock on his girlfriend's face when he only nodded and said he believed her without even kicking up a tantrum. He had been mildly amused at her flabbergasted expression. Ron knew she had expected him to blow his top off.

And he probably would have, had she not mentioned the fact that Narcissa Malfoy kneeled in front of Harry and asked that her son be given a second chance.

It was one of many deep-rooted customs that pure-blooded families were wont to keep, although many have probably forgotten by now. Ron doubted the Malfoys would forget though, and although the Weasleys had not been as well off, their clan was just as pure-blooded and ancient as the other.

The bottom line of it was that Narcissa Malfoy had irrefutably appointed herself as Harry's vassal—it was a contract held in place more by honor and pride than magic—and as such, rendered her impossible to lie or betray Harry in thought, word, or deed. True, magic was not involved, but a witch reared to uphold all pureblood customs and traditions as iron-clad dogma would never even dare think of breaking what is very nearly considered an established truth.

Ron had the nagging suspicion that neither Hermione nor Harry knew the implications of the woman's actions. Maybe he ought to ask Harry.

His feet automatically led him to the large room he had been sharing with his best friend, at least until he had been turned into a cat. He turned the knob and made a beeline for his bed, completely missing the fact that said best friend was watching him from the other four-poster in the room with a smile.

Harry's smile slipped a notch when Ron didn't even seem to see him, despite the fact that several candles were lit, along with a roaring fire in the grate to fight off the Autumn chill. "Er…Ron?"

Ron seemed startled to hear his name. After a second of wildly searching the room his eyes finally landed on Harry. Recognition split his face into a grin. "Harry! So you _are_ back. I thought Lors was leading me on." He shifted on his bed and faced his best friend. "So how're you feeling?" His grin turned wicked. "Coughing up hairballs yet?"

"Haha. Funny," Harry replied dryly, but smiling just the same. "I'm fine, though. The potion doesn't seem to have any side effects."

"That's good."

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying Ron. "How about you, though? I heard from Lors that you and Hermione had a row."

Ron made a face, raising his arms in a gesture of exasperation. "One of these days, Lors is going to drive me insane. So did she tell the entire school?"

Harry laughed. "No. Only me. I wondered where you and Mione where when I changed back to normal."

Ron winced. "Oh. Sorry 'bout that, mate."

"Don't worry about it. I'm concerned about you and Hermione though…" Harry left his sentence hanging.

Ron sighed. "I was just talking with Hermione down at the common room." He picked at a spot on his bed. "We're not…well, perfectly fine yet, but at least we _talked_."

Harry smiled, relieved. "Did you apologize?"

Ron gave him a hurt and scandalized look. "Why does everyone think I'm the one who has to do the apologizing?" He threw himself on the bed with a flop. "First it's Nearly Headless Nick, then Lors. And now you?!"

Harry smiled apologetically. "Well, I've seen the two of you fight, Ron."

Ron sighed again. "Am I really that horrid to her?"

Harry hesitated. "Er…d'you want the truth?"

Ron sat up and shot him a glare.

"Alright, alright…geez. To be honest you're a nice guy Ron…unless you're in one of your fits. Not that it's a bad thing," Harry hastened to add. "You know…sometimes."

Ron let out a groan, hating himself. Harry gave him a smile and a sympathetic look. "On the bright side though, she's speaking with you again, right?"

Ron nodded glumly, staring at the ceiling. Harry shifted on his bed. "Err…what did you fight about?"

"Not what. Who."

Understanding dawned on Harry, and he looked away with a frown. "Oh." He paused for a moment. "Listen, Ron—"

"Mate, if you're going to try to convince me that Malfoy's not such a prat, then Hermione's way ahead of you," Ron cut him in a calm voice. He sat up and looked at Harry with an inscrutable expression. "She told me."

Nonplussed, Harry's brow furrowed in slight confusion. "Told you what?"

"Malfoy's mum. Ministry of Magic. Your private talk with her?"

Harry bit his inner cheek guiltily. "That…er, you know Ron I didn't really want to keep it a secret from you, but I knew you wouldn't take it too well and…" He sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I know this sounds crazy, but I didn't think she was lying."

Another sigh. "No, she wasn't lying."

Harry gaped at him. "You…you believe me?"

Ron rolled his eyes and snorted. "You and Hermione really thought I'd go bonkers if I knew, didn't you?"

"Er…"

Ron shook his head. "Never mind," he sighed again, adding in a muttered grumble, "Some friends you are…"

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in mock hurt, knowing Ron didn't really mean it. "You can't blame us; you hate Malfoy even more than Hermione and I combined."

Ron grimaced. "Alright, I get it. The point is, Malfoy's mum couldn't have been lying to you, because she had all but officially sworn herself to you." At the look of pure confusion on Harry's face Ron continued on to explain the meaning behind Narcissa's seemingly innocent gesture at the time.

When he was finished Harry gave an indignant yelp. "What? But she didn't need to—I didn't want—that's insane! Why would she do that?"

Ron shrugged. Probably because she thought you wouldn't believe her."

"But I didn't have any idea she was already swearing herself to become my _vassal_!" Harry exploded. "All that kneeling and formal speech…I just thought it was the way she'd normally behave."

"It _is_ the way purebloods behave when they need to convince other wizards that they're telling the truth. They put their most prized possession on the line for it—their pride and honor."

Harry made a noise in his throat that was half a choke, half gasp. "Is it magical?"

"No. But it's just as strong as an Unbreakable Vow. Sometimes even stronger." Ron eyed Harry. "Since she's your vassal now, you can make her do anything you want, and she'd do it without anyone forcing her to."

Harry scowled. "That's the last thing I'd ever want to do," he said with a growl. It was his turn to sigh. "Great, just what I needed. More complications," he groaned.

Ron shook his head pityingly. "Better you than me, mate."

Harry snorted. "Thanks, Ron. That made me feel loads better," he remarked sarcastically. "So does this mean you don't hate Draco anymore?"

Ron laughed humorlessly. "Get real, mate. Just because I'm convinced his mum's not lying doesn't mean I'm all for being friends with _Malfoy_," he said, putting emphasis on his use of Draco's family name. "Maybe he's not really one of the bad guys—though I'm not keeping my hopes up—but that doesn't change the fact that I hate his guts."

"Wow. I'm impressed, Ron. You actually sounded really mature-like, except that last part."

Ron threw a pillow at Harry, who dodged with a smirk. "Shut up, Harry."

o0o0o0o

"What's the first on our agenda?" McGonagall prompted, starting the meeting that was currently being held in her office. Her large, mahogany desk had been transformed into a long, low table with several hard-backed chairs. The other people in the room shuffled through their notes in response to her question, but only Kingsley Shacklebolt answered.

"We're supposed to discuss the unresolved problem of who should sit as Minister," he said, his deep voice cool and collected. There were nods from those present. "The public is becoming uneasy, with no one at the helm."

McGonagall sighed inwardly. She could feel a headache coming on, and they hadn't even started yet. "Does the Ministry have a list of candidates?"

"Unfortunately, no one seems to want the job," Amelia Bones replied, adjusting her monocle with a slight frown. "They think the job is jinxed." She snorted to show what she thought of that.

"Yes, well first it was Fudge's bumblings, then Scrimgeour's aggressive methods, and then that git Thicknesse," commented Amos Diggory, his thick beard hiding the frown on his face. "It's only normal people would have second thoughts. I mean, the Ministry appointed Thicknesse as Minister when he was clearly a Death Eater!"

Madame Bones nodded her head. "I understand the public is wary this sort of thing might happen again."

McGonagall snorted. "It's a bit late to be wary when Voldemort's dead. Oh for heaven's sake, get used to it!" She snapped sharply, when Amos Diggory and Percy Weasley, who was acting as the secretary for their meetings, winced. "The man's dead; saying his name won't make him rise from the grave."

"A lot of things have happened, Headmistress McGonagall," Madame Bones remarked softly. "Most of us need time to settle with the…changes." Professor McGonagall tutted, but did not comment.

"A few think the Ministry being overseen by the Order is fine enough," Arthur Weasley pointed out.

McGonagall shook her head. "We're almost tearing our own hair out trying to keep everything together, Arthur. And Albus never created the Order of the Phoenix to become the Ministry's babysitter."

Arthur nodded, conceding the point. "You're right, of course," he said then shut his mouth, hesitating.

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement noticed the change. She drew her sharp eyes to Arthur. "What is it?"

"Well Madame Bones, I—er—I've been hearing a few people—you know, just in passing—thinking that maybe—er—Harry Potter should be made Minister."

His son, Percy, who had been scribbling furiously on a long roll of parchment to record the meeting, stopped and gaped at his father.

"A ridiculous notion," McGonagall said in an irritated tone. "The boy has enough on his plate as it is. And even if he didn't, it's impossible."

"'s not a bad idea if you ask me," Diggory shrugged.

"Maybe, but I still agree with the headmistress," Madame Bones replied with a slight nod. "The law has strict requirements for anyone wanting to be appointed Minister for Magic. And although I cannot deny Potter is, perhaps, a better candidate than some, he is too young, too inexperienced, and very much lacking in knowledge of Magical Laws."

"Then, who should be Minister?" Arthur asked. "Surely you're not suggesting Madame Bones, that we should re-appoint Fudge—"

"Hah!" Diggory smacked a hand on the table. "That'd be the day. The man's nervous enough to set foot inside the Ministry without being bombarded by howlers, let alone sit down as Minister. The wizarding public would eat him alive."

McGonagall took a sip of her rapidly cooling tea before saying, "The war with Voldemort may have taken a lot of decent witches and wizards, but that doesn't mean none of us are up to the task. I, for one, wouldn't complain if anyone of you would be appointed Minister." She raised an eyebrow at the youngest among them. "Except Percy Weasley, of course. Too young."

Shacklebolt shook his head. "I don't want the responsibility. And being an Auror and an Order member is good enough for me."

Arthur Weasley shook his head and laughed weakly. "I don't think I'm up for that, Minerva. Besides, Molly might have a heart attack." Percy rolled his eyes, although inwardly he agreed. His mother had quite the temper besides.

Amos Diggory sighed, shaking his head, too. "Can't say it won't be nice to have a promotion, but no. I'm not the wizard for the job, McGonagall. Don't want to leave my department, in any case." He laughed. "If I did, I won't have as much fun as before."

Madame Bones eyed McGonagall with a half-smile. "I could say the same for you, Headmistress. You being Minister might just be the thing we need."

McGonagall snorted. "Nonsense. You know perfectly well I will never abandon Hogwarts. My place is here, teaching students and running this school." She made a face. "And dealing with politics gives me a dreadful headache."

Madame Bones chuckled. "Welcome to the club, professor." She adjusted her monocle again. "Back to the topic at hand, though. The Department heads, or at least what's left of us"—Amos Diggory waved his hand and smiled, Madame Bones nodding her head slightly—"will have a meeting Monday after Halloween. I'm sure we can discuss the topic of eligible candidates then. We owe a lot to the Order of the Phoenix, but I'm sure you understand that it's better if the Ministry were to sort out this mess for itself."

The Order members—McGonagall, the Weasleys, and Shacklebolt—nodded, a trifle too eagerly. Madame Bones smiled in sympathy. She knew how tedious the Order's job was, trying to patch things up; having their leader back in school only made it harder.

"Well—now that that's settled, what's next?" Arthur asked no one in particular.

Shacklebolt consulted his notes again. "An update on the…clean-up programs."

Tension made the others sit straighter in their seats. This topic was one they were all gravely concerned on. The clean-up programs were suggested by Harry himself, when Dementor and giant attacks had grown increasingly out-of-hand even though Voldemort was dead. Having no one control them, the magical beasts posed a grave threat to both wizarding and Muggle community. Harry had walked into the Ministry and volunteered the Order to spearhead the task. Not that anybody complained; the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, headed by Amos Diggory, had never dealt with herding giants or rounding off Dementors in such large numbers before.

Amos took the silence as his que, and began to report. "The giants have all but gone from the lowlands. We have Rubeus Hagrid to thank for that," he added with a grin. "He's sent an owl reporting he'd be back at Hogwarts by the end of the month."

"That's good to hear," Arthur exclaimed, relieved. McGonagall gave him a sympathetic smile; his son, Charlie, had volunteered to go with Hagrid.

"How about the werewolves?" asked Percy.

"Twenty-eight Aurors have been dispatched to deal with them," Shacklebolt replied, who was acting as head of the Auror Department. "Since Greyback is nowhere to be found, his pack has disbanded. We're guessing no more than seven werewolves are at large still."

"That's good news," Madame Bones said with a nod of her head.

"We're still hoping to catch Greyback, but the chances of running into him are slim," added Shacklebolt. "Without Remus Lupin to provide us with inside information, we could only guess at where he's at."

"It's still progress," McGonagall said with a firm nod. "What about the Dementors?"

"The experts we requested from foreign Ministries—specifically the Japanese Ministry of Magic—have been a great help. Casualties have dropped to nearly zero during Dementor hunts," Amos was delighted to report. Relieved smiles broke out around the table.

"They must be really good," Shacklebolt mused.

Amos nodded with a grin. "Very."

"They are Loraine Ingleton's parents, correct?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes. The real expert in handling the creatures is Daryl Ingleton. His wife mainly concocts Potions—she could have rivaled Snape," Amos replied, awe lining his voice.

Madame Bones looked at McGonagall. "They have a daughter?"

"She's one of our special students this year, along with Potter and the others."

"Ah, which reminds me." Amos took out two envelopes from his dark brown robes and handed it to McGonagall. "They wanted me to give this to you. The other is for their daughter."

Arthur tilted his head. "They don't use owls?"

"Oh they do," McGonagall answered. "Just not when they have to send a letter to their daughter." At the expression on their faces she added, "She's easily surprised, and often uses accidental magic."

"Accidental magic? How old is she?" asked Madame Bones.

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen!" Arthur exclaimed, surprised. "That's impossible."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Apparently Arthur, it's not."

"Hmm." Shacklebolt raised his eyes. "Does this have something to do with the Ingletons' mysterious disappearance a few years back?"

"What disappearance?" Madame Bones asked, curious.

"I did a background check on them before they arrived here—standard procedure, of course," Shacklebolt answered. "They disappeared during an exploration trip in the Himalayas. Weren't heard of for three years, and then they suddenly appear at their doorstep one day. All three of them were not injured, but their daughter had never been enrolled in school. She was home-schooled…at least, until she came here."

"Well, whatever the reason, you might have a chance to ask them," McGonagall said, folding back the letter addressed to her. "The Ingletons are planning to visit their daughter tomorrow."

"Unfortunately, we're swamped with work," Amos sighed, put-out. "The only time we come here is during our weekly meetings."

"Maybe that's for the better," McGonagall remarked. "I'm curious myself, but I don't think it's right to pry into their affairs."

"Agreed," Madame Bones nodded. "What of the remaining Death Eaters?"

All eyes turned to McGonagall, who gave them a frown and a sigh. "No sign of them yet. The last we have heard, they were in London."

"London!" Amos exclaimed. "Are they insane?"

"We're hazarding a guess that they're desperate," McGonagall replied. "Potter already knows the situation." She eyed Shacklebolt. "He wants me to tell you to be wary about tailing them. They might do something stupid and risk more than they bargained for."

Shacklebolt nodded. "Duly noted. I'll tell the other Order members. George Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher are on information retrieval; they'll update us as soon as they find anything."

Madame Bones peered at McGonagall through her monocle. "What of Draco Malfoy?"

The sound of quill scratching on parchment stopped. Eyes turned uneasily to McGonagall, who regarded all of them with a cool expression. "What of him?"

"Well," Amos began, "it would be a good idea to post Aurors—"

"Draco Malfoy is my student," McGonagall replied coolly. Amos Diggory shrunk in his seat. "What he may have been or who he may have associated with are of no concern to me. So long as he is enrolled here at Hogwarts, he will be treated as a student—no more, no less."

"But headmistress, surely you must see that his being a Death Eater—"

"Amos, I suggest you do not continue that sentence," McGonagall cut him in coldly, her eyes steel. "He has been tried and found innocent, as well as his mother. Harry Potter himself believes he is not a criminal, and the Ministry has pardoned his crimes. _Surely_, this is enough to stop anyone even suggesting that I put him under guard. He is only a child."

Amos looked about to say something, but merely scowled and sulked in his seat. After a few moments of silence, he muttered, "Harry Potter is a child, too."

"Precisely my point. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy came back to Hogwarts to attend school and escape all these attentions on their person—wanted or not. The least we can do is to act like responsible adults and let them have their momentary peace before they go back out and face the world by themselves." Her nose was flaring in anger by the time she was finished, her sharp eyes daring anyone to argue.

No one, not even Madame Bones, said another word about Draco Malfoy after that. Behind them, Albus Dumbledore smiled and hummed happily in his portrait, his blue eyes twinkling. "Bravo, headmistress," he murmured, too low for anyone to hear. "Bravo."

o0o0o0o

_End of Chapter 12._


	14. Mending What was Broken

**(Cat)astrophe!**

_A Harry Potter Fanfiction_

_Disclaimers: All Harry Potter names, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. All Final Fantasy "loot/sundry items", "magyck", and "technicks" are copyright to SquareEnix. The Ingleton family (Daryl, Mai, and Loraine) belong to Moiraine Lendreth (the writer), along with the plot and writing style. Use of said characters in stories not written by said author is a violation of her intellectual property rights._

_A super-sized chapter (with a whoopin' 29 pages) to end my hiatus; read and enjoy my friends._

* * * * *

**Chapter 13 – Mending What was Broken**

The morning dawned crisp and cold. Draco could see frost already crusting the edges of his bedroom window even though winter was still a few weeks away. Thankfully, the house elves have done their job; a roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, and thick blankets spelled with Warming charms replaced the thin sheets Draco had slept in last night.

He had woken early, intent on finishing his letter before breakfast. Draco had attempted to write last night, but his mind could not focus on the letter, try as he might. Come to think of it, he had trouble sleeping, too. So, slightly grimacing as he slipped out of bed and into a green silk robe, he sat in front of his writing desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

Draco took his eagle feather quill with an absent frown, trying to arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order that his mother would understand. He still had some difficulty putting his genuine thoughts on paper, but Draco was pleased to find that he felt some sort of release from it. It was different from the secretive and oftentimes dull reports he wrote to his father, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was.

Giving himself a mental shake to get rid of the sudden gloom his thoughts were bringing, Draco pressed the tip of the quill against the parchment and began to write.

_Dearest Mother,_

_It has been a while since my last letter, hasn't it? I apologize deeply for the lack of correspondence; my studies have demanded a lot out of me of late. I count myself lucky to have even a few hours to myself nowadays._

Draco paused, staring guiltily at his words. They were partly true, at least; seventh year studies were by far harder and more stressful. Homework after homework piled on his desk everyday, giving him little time for rest. He wasn't the only one with his work cut out for him either; he had seen plenty of seventh years being escorted (sometimes carried) by friends to Madame Pomfrey after breaking down from stress or sheer exhaustion. Draco counted his solitude as a blessing in disguise; at least he was able to work on his academic requirements with little distraction, and often managed to submit his essays and star charts on time, although barely. He had other worries plaguing him, after all.

Not the least of which was Harry Potter.

_My complaints on taxing school work aside, I am quite well. People still are not too keen of me, but you will be happy to know that I have made acquaintances with most of the people I share the tower dormitories with. You know who they are, of course, except Loraine Ingleton. I don't know much about her, but she hardly minds the fact that I am a Malfoy—shocking, I know. I could scarcely believe it myself when I first met her. But aside form her tacky sense of fashion and bizarre obsession with rings, she is quite amiable._

Amiable, and maybe a little crazy, Draco thought with a snort as he paused. Very few people would actually entertain the idea of bottling spells, experimenting with potions, and befriending an ex-Death Eater. Needless to say he has become wary of anything she brews, although thankfully she has not created anything outside of Potions class of late. He did feel bad that McGonagall had restricted Lors's use of the laboratory downstairs, but he could not stay down for too long when it meant less chances that he might end up babysitting a transformed Harry, or worse, a transformed Weasley.

All of those things aside, Draco could see Lors's offer of friendship was genuine. And it had absolutely no strings attached; something Draco found both disbelieving and unexpected. No one had ever given him something just for the sake of it before.

_I know you are thinking that I may be having a difficult time, but your fears are ill-founded. Most of the talk about what happened died shortly after the term started; I hardly hear any gossip about the 'scandalous fiasco with the Malfoys' now. But wishing the rumor mills would just stop is too much to hope for. I did not think the day would ever come that I would want the focus of attention to move away from me. Oh well; there's a first time for everything, isn't that what Muggles say?_

He added just enough touch of humor to make the words read as lightly as possible. After all, the point of the letter was to ease his mother's worries, not add to them. Draco looked down at the parchment, hesitating for a moment before adding another paragraph.

_By the way, have you heard anything from Blaise yet, Mother? I am worried about him; I've been hearing things about the Ministry hunting down the Dark Lord's remaining loyalists. If you hear anything from him, please let me know._

Draco heaved a sigh as he put down his quill, Blaise's words echoing dully in his ears. In truth he had no desire to rejoin the ranks of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, but Blaise offered him something that was not too easy to pass up: the chance to make his family whole again.

You-Know-Who's demise at the hands of Harry Potter did more than just strip the Malfoys of their highly privileged status and lofty rank in elite wizarding society. Defeated, shamed, and humiliated beyond belief, Lucius Malfoy cut himself off from everyone, even his wife and son. For weeks he locked himself inside his private office, not even allowing house elves in. It got to the point where they had to blast open the spelled doors to get to him.

Draco remembered vividly how his mother bemoaned the destruction of even that small part of the manor. He also remembered her anguished cry when they found his father…

Draco's eyes winced shut, quickly stemming the onrush of memories, hot and searing. Again, Blaise's words whispered in his head: Help us, Draco, and we will help your father be himself again. Join us.

He knew very well what it would mean to become a Death Eater again. It meant making sacrifices he did not wish to make, and do things he did not wish to do. It meant risking what little freedom he had left. It meant destroying his mother's hope, and possibly endangering her life.

But if it meant he could have his father back…to see his mother's pain vanish…

_Oh, yes. The headmistress has given me permission to visit you and Father for Halloween. I shall be taking the Knight Bus from here, so you do not need to concern yourself with my travel arrangements._

_As always, take care of yourself, Mother. I shall be seeing you in the weekend._

Draco let out a heavy sigh and finished the letter with a few more words before signing his name at the bottom. He folded the letter in three and pushed it into an envelope that was on hand, sealing the thing with green wax. He resisted the urge to put security spells on the letter; he knew the Ministry still opened his letters, even though the headmistress had assured him none of the staff (even Filch) would touch whatever letters he sent or received. She did not speak for the Ministry, however.

Like all his previous letters, this was not stamped with any seal. His mother had given him the Malfoys' signet ring—proof that he was now head of the family—but Draco had decided against wearing or using it. He had no right to the ring, even though Narcissa said otherwise.

He set aside the letter as he got dresses and ready for class. Draco grimaced at the pile of undone homework stacked by the foot of his study, deciding to skip lunch later to do something about them. Although he did not relish the idea of skipping a meal, doing so would mean less chances of Harry accosting him to talk or…or whatever it is that meant enduring more of his presence than absolutely necessary. Their shouting argument was still fresh in his mind, and Draco did not think he could bear talking about it without dying from mortification yet.

As Draco pocketed his letter and made a last mental rundown of his schedule, there was a knock on the door. Wondering who it could be, Draco raised a curious eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"It's me."

Draco froze, his hand inches from the knob. He could feel his brows rise to his hairline, his whole body stiff with surreal amazement. _Impossible; what could he possibly want?_ It took him a few moments to gather his composure and put on a calm, disinterested expression. He opened the door and feigned a mocking smile. "Well, well. To what do I owe this displeasure, Weasley?"

He really did not know why, but Draco always got a warped sense of satisfaction from getting a rise out of Ronald Weasley. Call it Slytherin cruelty or pure Malfoy arrogance (maybe a mix of both); but seeing Weasley's face turn as flaming red as his family's signature hair color made Draco feel quite good about himself. Mind you, he _always_ felt damn good where his hot self was concerned, but looking at Weasley always made Draco realize just how fortunate he was not to have been born a redhead.

As expected, Weasley's scowl turned deadly, his face reddening to an angry shade. "Can I have a word with you?" he grated out, the words sounding forced. His eyes shifted to both sides of the corridor before turning back. "Alone?"

Draco could not stop the look of surprise that passed fleetingly across his face before his smile turned into a smugly superior look. "I have to admit this was the last thing I expected from you, Weasley. Have you been Confunded by any chance, or are you thinking of murdering me when there'd be no witnesses?"

Weasley glared blue daggers at him. "Shut it, Malfoy. I'm trying to be perfectly civil here. The least you can do is return the favor."

"'Trying' being the operative word," Draco replied blithely. "Very well." He stepped aside and opened the door wider.

The angry expression on Weasley's face turned to mild disbelief. Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you're expecting a grand welcome, then I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Weasley gave him a look. "I just didn't expect you to let me into your room."

"Oh, but I've always dreamed of having you in my room, Weasley." Draco gave a theatrical sigh and batted his eyelashes. Weasley backed a step and frowned disgustingly at Draco until the Malfoy heir barked a laugh. "You're such a homophobe, Weasel."

"And you're a slimy bastard," Weasley shot out with another heated glare.

"As much as I would love to continue verbally harassing you and watch as you make a complete fool of yourself, my breakfast is waiting downstairs. So if we could get this out of the way…" Draco left his sentence hanging, gesturing with an outstretched arm. When the redhead seemed to hesitate, Draco's lips stretched into a feral smile. "Afraid of me?"

Weasley bristled, taking the bait, and marched stiffly into Draco's room, his back and shoulders straight. Upon seeing one of his hands furtively inch towards his robes Draco rolled his eyes. "There's no need for wands, Weasley."

"Right," Weasley scoffed. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

"Now that you mention it…"

Weasley glared yet again. "Only a moron would think you're not above dirty tricks, Malfoy."

Draco gave a bored sigh. "Whatever, Weasley. Just get to the point so you can leave."

Weasley opened his mouth to say something then closed it again, grudgingly conceding to Draco's logic. He did not want to stay near Malfoy any more than necessary if he could help it. Taking a deep breath as if to brace himself, he said, "First, I wanted to say thanks."

Silence followed his words. Draco looked at him with a flat expression. "I don't recall donating to charity, Weasley. You're thanking the wrong person."

"I meant about Harry, you prat," Weasley snapped, the red flush on his cheeks spreading. "He told me last night—about how you took care of him while he was a cat. Seems he remembered everything that happened." Weasley looked like he had taken a bite out of something unpleasant as he added, "So I wanted to say thanks."

Draco blinked, his expression unreadable. "He told you?"

Weasley looked at him askance, noticing Draco's abrupt change of mood, but he nodded just the same. "Like I said, he talked about it last night."

Last night. Draco bit his lip, hiding his unease. "He told you everything?"

"Yes."

Draco paused. "All of it?"

Weasley frowned. "That's what I said. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Draco did not answer. Instead he was thinking back on the Gryffindork's words, his thoughts rushing past like a turbulent gale. _No…Ha-Potter wouldn't really tell Weasley everything that happened. But they're best mates, right? Even so, I don't think Weasley would come thanking me for molesting his friend. Unless he really _is_ screwed in the head…_

A hand waving rudely in front of his face made Draco step back instinctively. He scowled at Weasley. "Get your filthy hand away from me or I'll blow it off for you."

For a wonder, Weasley only brushed the sharp words off, a questioning frown on his face. "You were spacing out, Malfoy. I kept calling your name." His eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Is this a regular occurrence for you, or did removing that vile Mark made your head go all funny?"

_How in Merlin's name did Potter end up with a best mate like this brainless wonder?_ Glaring, he said, "If you must know Weasley, I was thinking—you know, an activity that requires exercising the mind, of which you woefully lack. Now if you're done, I must insist you leave so I can attend to matters that are more worthy of my time."

Draco doubted Weasley understood even half of what he said, but at least he seemed to realize that he had been insulted somewhere in it, so he reacted precisely as Draco predicted: with a bristling, angry expression and a violently red face that clashed quite horribly with his hair. "I should've expected you would act like an arse even if—bah, forget it. I'm going." He made a disgusting noise in his throat.

Before he reached the door though, he turned and glared at Draco. "Just remember this Malfoy: Harry, Hermione, and Lors may think you've changed, but I'll always keep in mind that you're a lying, traitorous snake." Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

Draco did not realize he had been holding his breath until he took a great lungful of air. Had he been worried? He glanced at the door with an irritated frown, his mask of calmness melting the moment Weasley was out of sight. He shook his head, once; of course he wasn't worried. But what did Harry tell that idiot of a redhead, exactly? He dismissed Weasley's threat, confident in the fact that the Muggle lover would never change. And let's face it—the insult was actually pretty cliché.

Muttering about brainless, unoriginal Gryffindors, Draco grabbed his bag and made sure his letter was safe in his pocket before leaving the room. He locked his bedroom door and placed a few security spells for good measure; none of the students have gotten it in their heads to play pranks on him yet (or worse, try to off him _again_), but Draco wasn't going to take chances.

As he turned to leave, a soft, mewling sound made Draco stop. His heart skipped a beat, eyes searching the winding corridor.

A few steps below him sat Mrs. Norris, staring at him with lamp-like yellow eyes. Draco scowled, wishing he could murder the damn thing. "Stupid cat," he growled, hefting his bag with one hand. "You almost gave me a bloody heart attack. What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Norris meowed loudly in reply, her stare almost reprimanding. Draco rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore Filch's pet before the man himself came striding up the stairs and make Draco's day even worse. And it wasn't even past breakfast yet!

As he walked past Mrs. Norris the cat mewled again, swishing her dusty gray tail and staring. Draco raised an eyebrow. "Even if I did have treats, I would never dream of giving them to you, you nasty pest." He turned and continued past the cat, who gave him an indignant yowl.

Before he disappeared around the corner Draco stopped and looked at Mrs. Norris. "Besides, I absolutely hate cats."

* * * * *

Hermione looked worriedly at Lors, who sat next to her in Transfiguration. As Professor McGonagall dismissed them with a last reminder for their essay homework due after Halloween, she turned to give Lors a concerned frown. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Eh?" Lors looked up from stowing her quill and ink bottle, her expression half-dazed. "Oh…uh, I'm fine."

Hermione did not look convinced. "I don't think so. You've been quiet since breakfast, and you look a little pale." Her expression softened. "I can walk with you to Madame Pomfrey if you want," she offered.

Lors gave her a smile that seemed rather weak. "I'm not sick, 'Mione. I just have a lot of things on my mind." She spotted Harry and Ron coming towards them, with Draco trailing further behind. She gave them a half-hearted greeting of, "Hello, guys."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Is something wrong? You look a bit off."

Hermione sighed. "That's what I told her, but she insists that she's fine." She sniffed. "Which she's obviously not."

Ron tilted his head and frowned. "She seems fine to me."

Behind them, Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. Ron shot him a nasty glare, but for once did not start a fight.

Lors gave a chuckle. "Come on, we'll be late for Herbology if we stay here any longer." She grabbed her things and led the way out of the room and down the hall that would take them downstairs and out the grounds, straight to the greenhouses.

As they walked, Hermione pursued the conversation, frowning disapprovingly at Lors. "Don't think you can worm your way out of this, Lors. Tell us what's wrong."

Lors fell in step with her, a childish pout on her face. After a while she gusted out a breath. "Oh, fine. Here." She handed Hermione a sheet of parchment.

"What's this?"

"I got it this morning. It's the letter Professor McGonagall handed over." Lors grimaced. "Go on, read it."

Both Harry and Ron caught up with them and read the letter over Hermione's shoulder. Draco moved just close enough to hear the conversation.

Ron looked up. "I don't get it. Your parents are coming over today—so what?"

Lors winced her eyes shut and ribbed her face with one hand. "You don't have to say it out loud," she moaned. Her light brown eyes turned balefully at them.

Hermione scrunched her nose. "And your parents' coming over is bad in…what way?"

Lors's shoulders slumped. "My mom is going to kill me," she croaked. "I'm doomed."

Harry patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Er…I'm sure it's not going to be that bad." Lors's only reply was a snort.

Hermione seemed to be thinking of something. "Do they know about the potion accident with Harry, then?"

"Maybe. I don't know if the headmistress told them," Los answered heavily. They were descending the Entrance Hall's great marble staircase when she added, "Even if they did, it won't be a big deal."

Ron was puzzled. "Then why are you so worried?"

Lors made a face, holding up her hand wearing several rings. "Because I broke these."

Ron leaned closer to see. "They don't look that expensive. Why don't you just use _Reparo_ on them?"

Lors sighed. "It's not that easy. Fixing the rings with magic will only make the damage worse."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, and both Harry and Ron turned to look at her. Draco, who lagged a few paces behind, opted to raise an eyebrow. Hermione flushed slightly, but she said, "It's about your condition, isn't it? The one you told me about?"

Lors gave her a half-smile. "Yes."

"Then…" Hermione frowned. "Oh, I get it now. They're worried about what might happen to you, aren't they?"

"That, and what would happen _around_ me," Lors said, shaking her head.

Hermione winced. "Have the rings been broken before?"

"Yes."

"Was it that bad?"

Lors smiled grimly. "Worse."

"What the bloody hell are you two talking about?" Ron burst out loudly. Lors rolled her eyes, and Hermione glared at her boyfriend.

"Mind your own business, Ronald," she said with a sniff.

"Yeah, well, that's kind of hard to do considering we're here, hearing everything you say," Ron muttered darkly to himself. Harry listened to him with a wry smile.

Lors chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll tell you the details at lunch. Be warned though; it's going to be a long story."

Satisfied with the promise of an explanation, the talk turned to lighter things. Lors momentarily forgot her parents' imminent visit at the mention of Halloween. "What sort of things do you do on Halloween, anyway?"

Harry turned to her, surprised. "You don't celebrate Halloween?"

She shrugged. "My mother is Japanese, remember? And we're almost always out on expeditions, so we don't really have the time."

"We celebrate Halloween here by having a special dinner," Hermione answered. Behind her, Ron smiled dreamily at the mention of food.

"Is that it? I thought there'd be some sort of tradition or something." Lors sounded slightly put-off.

Harry explained that Halloween was almost like Christmas at Hogwarts: the Great Hall would be festooned with bats and artfully placed cobwebs and floating carved pumpkins aside from the usual candles, and mountains of every kind of sweet imaginable on the tables, and the ghosts always with some thing up their sleeves. "Just watch out for Peeves," he warned. "He gets to be more…er, motivated during Halloween."

"You mean he gets worse," Ron snorted. "Mental, that poltergeist. Makes you wonder why McGonagall lets him stay here."

They were already nearing the greenhouses; the ground dipped slightly as they approached, the grass still moist from the morning mist. Their breaths came in small white clouds as they spoke.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I'm going to check your magical core tonight if that's alright with you, Harry."

Harry turned to Lors. "Where are we doing it?"

"Since I'm still banned from using the Potions lab at the tower—"she made a face at this—"then we have no choice but to borrow Profesor Slughorn's."

"Why in a Potions lab?" Hermione asked.

"It's just a precaution," Lors replied. "Just in case something happens."

Harry looked worried. "_Will_ something happen?"

Lors gave him a sweet, too-innocent smile. "There's no need for worry, Harry. It's just a precaution, remember?" She looked behind. "I'll need you to come too, Draco."

The blonde's eye widened fractionally for a second before his face settled on a flat expression. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Like I said, it's a precaution. I just want to be ready for any eventuality."

At Greenhouse Two's entrance Professor Sprout was already waiting. She instructed them to form pairs and don their dragon hide gloves. Upon seeing Harry and the others she said, "Well Potter, I think pairing you up with Weasley and Malfoy is best. At least they won't stop to ogle you while I get on with the lesson." At this she shot a narrow-eyed look at the girls behind her, who looked crestfallen at Professor Sprout's pronouncement. "And if Granger and Ingleton would pair up, that should do pretty nicely. Right then. Today's lesson we shall be feeding a magical plant often mistaken by Muggles as a Venus flytrap…"

As Professor Sprout left their table, the five dorm mates looked at each other, no one daring to make the first move. After about five seconds Lors rolled her eyes and grabbed Hermione's hand. She began hauling her off to another table while shooting the boys a grin. "Later then!"

Harry gaped at her, half-wanting to go with them. He met Ron's eyes that said, 'what now?' and wanted to sigh. He glanced at Draco, who pointedly looked at everything except him. Harry stiffened, struggling to keep the anger from his face, Draco's words still fresh and stinging. Beside him, Ron scowled every time his eyes landed on Draco. For once Harry decided not to keep him from doing so. "Come on, mate." Harry turned to Ron, nodding towards the last, empty worktable. Ron nodded, shot Draco one last, nasty glare, and walked with Harry.

Behind them, Harry heard Draco follow. From the slightly prickly feeling he was getting, Harry was fairly certain Draco was glaring for all he was worth. _Let him,_ Harry thought grimly.

"The Brazilian Snapdapple, as you can see, looks almost exactly like the flytrap, except for the bright pink and yellow spots on the underside of each leaf, and the fine white hairs growing all over it. It eats small insects and doxy hatchlings. It will also try to snap at any finger wandering close, so watch your hands!" Professor Sprout passed each table a bowl of beetles still scurrying over each other, though a spell kept them from flying off. "Try tossing the beetles at your Snapdapples—take turns, please. Then observe how the plant actually spots its meal. An additional ten points each to the group who can tell me how the Snapdapple does it!"

Ron eyed the bowl of insects with disgust, but took a small beetle between his two fingers just the same. "Ugh. At least there aren't any spiders." He eyes the potted Snapdapple on their worktable doubtfully. "It's not even moving; how can Professor Sprout even think it will eat this?" he asked, holding up the insect in his hand, little legs clawing at air.

Harry shrugged. To him, the plant _did_ look like a flytrap, except its—leaf? Head?—seemed larger. "Try throwing the bug at it."

Ron did what he was told. The three of them watched the black beetle tumble end over end in the air towards the magical plant. Before it could touch the Snapdapple a large, green-jawed head opened quickly. It flashed a bright red interior before snapping shut around the bug, then retracting back to its previous position. It opened and closed partly several times, followed by soft, crunching sounds.

Harry winced, trying not to think about what would happen if that was his finger. Ron looked slightly sick. "That is disgusting."

Harry nodded. Why in Merlin's name were they studying this thing again?

As if reading his thoughts, Professor Sprout told the class, "One unique characteristic of the Snapdapple is that when it is full, its jaws droop, and a clear, viscous liquid trickles out of it. This liquid is used as a base ingredient in several antidotes, including the one for doxy poison. Next meeting, we will attempt to collect this liquid—"

"We're going to collect plant drool?" Ron asked incredulously. Luckily for him, Professor Sprout was too far off to overhear.

Harry cautiously threw another bug in the plant's direction. Another head snapped the insect out of the air. "Let's just try to find out how this thing finds its meal."

Ron crossed his arms. "Well, it doesn't look to have eyes. Or a nose, so it can't see or smell—"

"It's a _plant_, Weasley. If it could see, hear, or smell it would be categorized as a creature."

Ron glared. "At least I'm helping, not standing around like an arrogant sod," he growled low in his throat, glaring at Draco.

"Stop it," Harry hissed at them. "Ron, just ignore the prick. You know he's only doing this to rile you up. And you," this he addressed to Draco with an angry glare, "shut up if you don't have anything useful to say."

Draco's face grew flushed with anger, his eyes like piercing iron blades. "You have some nerve talking to me like that Potter—"

"I've got more than that, Malfoy, which is hardly what I can say about you," Harry cut him off coldly.

Draco was about to open his mouth and give a retort when he saw the look in Harry's eyes. Anger was there. And pain, along with a disappointment that made it difficult for Draco to look Harry in the eye. He drew his gaze away. Shit. "Whatever, Potter," he bit out, taking a step away from them.

Ron stood beside Harry. "Bastard," he muttered.

Harry sighed, inwardly deploring his momentary outburst. "Just drop it, Ron. Let's just figure this plant out; hopefully Professor Sprout will let us leave early."

There was a low, rumbling sound. Ron placed a hand over his stomach. "I hope you're right. I'm starving."

* * * * *

"This doesn't look too good," Lors mumbled, almost to herself.

Hermione looked up form where she had been jotting down notes about the Brazilian Snapdapple. "What doesn't look good?"

Lors turned to her. "Harry and Draco."

"What about them?"

Lors shot a glance at Harry, Ron, and Draco's table. "I think they're fighting."

Curious, Hermione's eyes landed on her best friends. Harry and Ron were taking turns tossing beetles in their Snapdapple's direction, talking. Hermione guessed they were trying to find out how the plant was able to "see" the bug thrown its way. She and Lors had come up with the answer shortly after they both noted the presence of fine, white hairs all over the plant (it acted like sensors). Draco stood slightly apart from Harry and Ron, casting them angry looks while pretending to read their Herbology textbook. "Draco does seem to be in a foul mood," Hermione noted.

Lors shook her head worryingly. "They're probably fighting over something stupid."

Hermione nodded, once. "They usually do. I wonder what it's about, though."

"Whatever it is, they are going to clear it up tonight," Lors said with conviction.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Lors broke into a wicked grin, but did not answer.

* * * * *

Professor Sprout did not give them any extra work for the coming weekend, so it was with relieved grins that they trooped back to the castle for lunch. Without a word all five exited the greenhouse together, having settled into the routine weeks before.

As the double doors of the Entrance Hall came into view Lors stopped, and the others halted with her, a questioning look on their faces. "What is it?" Hermione asked.

Lors did not answer. Her face had gone pale, and she was staring at the castle's front steps. Or more specifically, at the people standing there.

Two people stood by the side of the doorway, looking at them, their expressions inscrutable because of the distance. But it was quite clear one was a man, broad shouldered and well-muscled, judging from the way his pale blue shirt and deep brown robes stretched over his chest, and the rolled-up sleeved exposed his tanned arms up to his elbows. He had short-cropped, dark brown hair.

The other was a woman, head and shoulders shorter than her companion. Harry could see her black hair tied in a tight braid hanging off one shoulder. Oddly enough, she wasn't wearing robes, but ordinary Muggle clothing: a pair of dark colored pants and a pale green sleeveless button-up blouse. She started walking in their direction, the man following closely behind.

Lors uttered a small 'eep' then tried to cover it up by grinning. It looked like a painful grimace to Harry. When the woman was close enough for Harry to see she had narrowed her pale brown eyes Lors immediately bent her upper body until it was parallel to the ground, both arms fixed firmly at her side. _"Konnichiwa, hahaue. O tegami wo uketorimashita."_

The woman's frown did not leave. _"Doh deshita ka?"_ Her tone was sharp, curt, and brooked no nonsense. As he watched Harry had a sinking feeling that this woman was Lors's mother; no wonder she had not been eager to hear about her parents' visit.

Lors did not move from her position, as uncomfortable as it was. _"Ano…gomen nasai, hahaue. Jiko masu. Demo shinpai nai, watashi—"_

"_Lorusu."_ The woman's voice sounded like a lashing whip, and Lors flinched, shutting her mouth almost instantly. The woman's hard gaze on her softened slightly, and she sighed. _"Itsu kara?"_

"_S-senchu kara, hahaue…"_

Another sigh. The woman opened her mouth to speak again, but her companion's hand on her shoulder stopped her. He smiled gently, saying, "Calm down, dear. I'm sure our daughter has a good explanation for her actions." He turned to Lors even as the woman sniffed. _"Ne, _Lors?"

As if given a cue Lors straightened, a tentative smile on her face. "Dad…"

"Well, aren't you going to give us a hug? We missed you, you know."

Harry and the others watched as Lors nearly barreled over her father, who chuckled and patted her head. When she released him Lors turned to her mother, unsure. Her father placed a reassuring hand behind Lors.

"Go on. She missed you more than she lets on," he said quite audibly. His wife gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but otherwise did not comment.

Lors nervously scuffed her shoe against the ground. "Um…"

Her mother sighed, the angry frown dissipating. "I'll hear out your explanation later," she began, and Lors brightened up considerably. "That doesn't mean you're off the hook, young lady." Lors's grin faltered slightly.

Lors's father smiled. "Are they your friends, Lors?" he asked, looking at Harry and the others.

"Oh! I almost forgot to introduce you. Guys, these are my parents: Daryl and Mai Ingleton." She turned to her parents. "This is Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Draco." She gestured to each one with a hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you," Daryl Ingleton began. "I hope my daughter hasn't given you a lot of trouble."

Harry glanced at Lors, who flushed at the comment but did not speak. Does that mean her parents did not know?

"Not at all, Mr. Ingleton," came Hermione's voice, halting Harry's inward thoughts. "Lors has been very kind and helpful. Hasn't she, Ron?" She turned to Ron with a look.

"Er, yeah she has," Ron replied, cottoning on. "Very helpful."

Mai Ingleton let out an un-motherly snort. "There's no need to hide the truth, young man." She looked at Ron squarely in the eye. "Were you the one my daughter turned into a cat?"

Harry stirred and felt his cheeks flush. "That would be me, Mrs. Ingleton."

Lors's mother turned sharp eyes on him, and saw the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Her eyebrows rose slightly, and after a moment she said, "I'm sorry if my daughter caused you worries, Potter." She sighed in exasperation, and the strict aura around her disappeared. "Lors can be a handful sometimes."

"I am not!" Lors said indignantly, cheeks blushing.

"I would have to agree with your mother," added Daryl cheerfully.

"Great. This shows just how supportive my parents are," Lors commented dryly. His father laughed good-naturedly while her mother only smiled wryly.

As the Ingletons began to chat in a mixture of English and Japanese, it became more evident that although Lors looked more like her mother, she had her father's natural optimism and enthusiasm. For a moment Harry felt the sharp pang of loss; if his parents were still alive, they might be visiting him just like this.

"You alright, mate?"

Harry almost jumped when he felt Ron's hand clap him on the shoulder. When he saw who it was he relaxed and forced himself to smile. "'Course I am."

"You sure?" Ron tilted his head a bit and leaned closer to whisper, "You looked funny for a moment there."

Harry could feel his jaw starting to ache from trying to grin. "It's nothing. Really."

Luckily for Harry Ron wasn't as hard to convince as Hermione, so he was not forced o lie any more than he would have liked. They continued the short walk back to the castle in relative silence, punctuated only by a question or two from Lors's parents, asking about Hogwarts. Hermione, of course, was only too happy to answer.

"Oh yes, the whole school is covered in wards," he heard her say as they came up the front steps. "The entire faculty helps to ensure they stay up the entire term—"

"Thank you for keeping our guests well-informed on how the school is run, Miss Granger, but now you must leave them in my hands." The headmistress stood at the foot of the great marble staircase, one eyebrow raised and lips curled into a half-smile of amusement.

Hermione flushed a bright pink, shooting Ron a glare when he chuckled behind his hand. Lors was grinning at her from ear to ear. Draco, who had silently hung back all this time, rolled his eyes. "Just when I thought there was a limit to how long you can talk, Granger…"

Hermione shot him a look, too. "Oh, shut up. As tempting as it is, I don't want to get into an argument with you while the headmistress is within earshot," she hissed.

"You mean you'll argue with me the moment she leaves?"

"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant."

Professor McGonagall wasn't paying them any attention at all, though. She was shaking hands with Lors's parents.

"It is nice to see the both of you again," she greeted with a warm smile. "I take it you are here to see your daughter?"

Mai Ingleton nodded, returning McGonagall's smile with one of her own. She glanced at Lors. "Among other things, yes."

McGonagall seemed to understand. "Of course. Please do not hesitate to come to my office later. Miss Ingleton, I'm giving you the rest of the day off, so you can escort your parents up to the tower dormitories. That goes for the four of you as well."

Ron whooped, happy to have no more classes for the afternoon, while Hermione looked torn between delight and disappointment. "If you say so, professor," she said, rather reluctantly.

"Why do we get the rest of the day off, too?" Harry asked.

McGonagall peered at him through her square-cut glasses. "I'm sure you can help Miss Ingleton make sure her parents are comfortable during their visit, Potter." She turned to Lors's parents again. "I've unlocked the Potions laboratory in the tower. Should you need anything else, Potter and the others know where to find me." She left soon after, leaving the two adults and five teenagers standing at the foot of the marble staircase.

For a few moments nobody moved, until Draco broke the silence. "Shall we go get lunch?"

It seemed the best idea, and everyone agreed. Lors added that they should probably take lunch inside their common room.

"Yes, I think that would be best," said Mai Ingleton, glancing at her daughter and the others. "It will give us some privacy."

Harry did not quite like the way she had said that, but wisely kept silent. He led the way back to the tower, Hermione and (surprisingly) Ron making small talk with Lors's parents.

"We heard from Lors that you have been living in Japan until only recently," said Hermione.

"Yes, we were," replied Lors's father with a smile. "We moved her temporarily because of work."

"What do you do?" Ron asked.

"I am a magizoologist. My wife is an expert at Experimental Potions."

"A magizoologist!" Hermione repeated, impressed. "Is that why you often go on field trips with Lors?"

"Ah, Lors mentioned that, has she? Well yes, that's mostly the reason. And my wife often searches for rare potion ingredients with me, so it's really like taking my family to work," Daryl Ingleton chuckled.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Ingleton, have you ever studied dragons? My brother Charlie studies them in Romania."

"Charlie? You mean Charlie Weasley, don't you?" When Ron nodded Mr. Ingleton said, "You must be his younger brother, yes?"

"Yeah, I am." Ron looked pleased at being recognized.

Mr. Ingleton grinned. "I taught Dragonology at one point in Romania. Charlie was one of my more enthusiastic students. I believe he had acquired a fine specimen of a Norwegian Ridgeback a few years back. Named it, too, although he wouldn't say where he got the hatchling from." He looked at Ron. "Will you be studying dragons, too?"

Ron's ears glowed a bright red. "Er…not really…I was—um—thinking of becoming an Auror."

"That's a good career path, too. I'm sure you'll make a fine Auror." Ron's ears turned a brighter shade of red.

The conversation turned to talk of Potions, including Mrs. Ingleton's work. "I'm more of a researcher than an actual Potions professor," she explained, "although I teach a few classes once in a while."

"I've heard about your work in _Modern Concoctions_ magazine," Hermione gushed. "You actually use Class A Non trade-able Goods for many of your experiments—ingredients that you collect yourself."

Mai chuckled. "You make it sound like I'm some sort of super human."

"But you use _chimera fur_!" Hermione breathed. Ron gaped at Lors's mother.

"Ah…that's actually an interesting story…"

They talked all the way to the common room, where house elves had already set up a large table laden with lunch. As everyone settled in their seats Mai Ingleton cleared her throat. "Well. I suppose you are all wondering why we are here simply because Lors broke a few rings." She looked at each of them in turn. "Has she told you?"

"No, I haven't," Lors piped up, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "But I told Hermione some of it, so she knows I have an unstable magical core."

"She does?" Ron asked, rather surprised. He turned to Hermione. "Really?"

She nodded. "Lors told me just yesterday."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean, unstable?"

"Let me explain," Daryl Ingleton answered. "As children, wizards and witches have underdeveloped magical cores—the source of their magic, you can say. That's why until around ten or eleven, they can only do accidental magic. We start our magical education around that time, because that is when magical cores start to mature—to expand and change.

"Change?" Harry repeated.

Daryl Ingleton nodded. "To accommodate the natural influx of magic, and also to prepare your body to accept this surge of magical power, which usually happens between the ages pf seventeen and twenty."

Harry thought this over, and glanced at Lors. "So…she has an unstable magical core because something happened when her magical core…matured?"

Lors's father smiled, but shook his head. "No, my boy. Something happened to my daughter even before that."

Draco leaned into his seat, fascinated. "What happened?"

Harry almost jumped. He had almost forgotten Draco was with them. He turned to look at the ex-Slytherin, who sat two seats away, but Draco was storing at Lors's father.

"We were on an expedition to the Himalayas when an…accident happened," Mr. Ingleton replied, sighing as he remembered.

"One of my experiments blew up in my face—quite literally," added his wife, who grimaced at the memory.

"There was this colossal explosion of white light. Then nothing," Lors said, emphasizing with both hands. "When we came to, we weren't in the mountains anymore, but we were _somewhere_."

"Where?" Hermione asked.

Lors smiled apologetically. "Sorry. We can't tell you that."

"Suffice to say, Miss Granger, that it was very, very far from the Himalayas," Daryl Ingleton said. "And although the people there used magic, they used it in an entirely different manner. And they called it _Mist_, of all things."

"My wife and I spent three years figuring out how we could get back. Of course, during that time we had to adapt to the lifestyle they had there. That meant using magic the way they did, too. But because our cores had matured already, the only one among us who could learn was Lors."

"We didn't think it would cause problems when Lors learned their way of magic," sighed Mai.

"My core was already changing at that time," Lors said, turning to her friends. "So when I learned Mist magic, my core changed to accommodate it."

Hermione's eyes lit in understanding. "So when you got back, your core was forced to change again, wasn't it?"

Lors nodded. "Yes, rather painfully, too. I couldn't stop crying for _days_." She wiped a hand across her face. "I thought I was going to die. Then mom had this idea to stop the forced change by shielding my magical core."

"And that is what the rings do, right?" Hermione asked. Lors nodded.

"I can do simple spells, but anything more complicated than a Floating Charm and it puts a strain on my core. The same goes with using Mist magic."

Her mother tsked. "You know the dangers, but you insist on straining the shields by casting spells."

Lors grinned sheepishly. "Those were accidents, though."

"I'm surprised that you let her enroll at Hogwarts at all, when her condition is this serious," Draco said, in a tone that only said he was curious.

"It seemed a good idea to let Lors experience school," Lors's father answered musingly. "We felt it necessary, since we have been the only ones teaching her all her life."

"If I didn't, I wouldn't get to meet you guys," chirped Lors.

"Or cause phenomenal trouble," added her mother, to which Lors flushed and looked thoroughly abashed. "And considering we were called here for work, we would have very little time to focus on Lors's education."

"Oh, I remember. Professor McGonagall said you were asked by the Ministry to help with the Dementors."

"That's right," Lors's father replied.

They continued to talk as they ate their way through a lunch of stew and potatoes, followed by cream-topped apple pie. When the last morsel had been eaten the plates magically disappeared, to be replaced by cups of warm tea. Lors's parents, Harry noticed, both had steaming green tea in cylindrical ceramic cups that had no handle.

"So," Mai Ingleton continued," how exactly did my daughter manage to turn you into a cat, Potter?"

Harry narrated the events, cutting down to the bare essentials. He left out the part where Draco had no choice but to take care of him; Harry didn't think Draco would have wanted Lors's parents to know, at any rate.

After hearing his story, she turned to Lors. She asked her a lot of questions, mostly about the potion. When Lors mentioned the remedy, her eyebrows shot up. "Unpurified ether?"

"Yes," Lors answered, rather excitedly. "I didn't really expect to find it here!"

They discussed about it for a few more minutes before Mrs. Ingleton said, "Checking his core would probably be best. With unpurified ether the remedy should have worked completely, but it has never been used in this manner before." She looked at her daughter. "Alright. I'll tell the headmistress to lift the ban on your use of the Potions lab."

Lors almost cried in utter happiness, until her mother raised a finger for attention. "On one condition."

"Anything!" Lors answered quickly, eyes shining.

Mrs. Ingleton smiled almost cat-like. "Have you been practicing your _kata_?"

* * * * *

"I don't get it," Ron said later that day as he, Harry, and Hermione sat underneath their favorite tree by the lake. "Why did Lors react like that?"

Hermione sighed. "You heard what her father said. Lors's mother grew up in a dojo in Japan."

"What's a … a dow jaw? And why did she faint?"

"You would, too when you have to train for an entire afternoon, practicing judo with your mom who's probably a professional," Harry replied, feeling sympathy for Lors.

* * * * *

Draco had only been inside Lors's potion laboratory once, so he had never really taken a good look at it before. The moment he stepped inside, he was astounded with the sheer number of Potions ingredients stacked in shelves, stuffed into boxes and bottles, and strewn all over the two long worktables that stretched across the room.

"Over here, Draco."

Draco looked up from where he was idly perusing a thin blue book on exotic concoctions, to see Lors grinning at him from the far end of one table, near the fireplace. Beside her was a small pewter cauldron simmering over a magical fire. He raised an eyebrow. "It hasn't been a full day yet, and you already started making something again?"

As he walked closer, he noticed Lors's left hand was bandaged, and the ghost of a bruise was outlined on her lower right cheek. She also limped slightly as she took a small jar from a nearby shelf. She was smiling, though. "You're almost an hour early."

Draco ignored her statement and asked blankly, "What happened to you?"

Lors laughed weakly. "I was…er…exercising."

"Exercising? You look like you've been wrestling with mountain trolls." He eyed her bandaged arm. "Was that what your mother meant when she asked you about those _kata_ things?" he asked, pronouncing the foreign word awkwardly.

Lors scratched at her temple sheepishly. "Basically, yeah."

Draco tried very hard not to gape. He had a vague idea of what she was talking about (he'd seen it on a Muggle Studies book); from the little he knew, he was fairly certain it involved a lot of punching and kicking. He eyes Lors's rueful state. "Your mother did this to you?"

"Well, she only used my own attacks against me, so you could say I did this to myself," Lors answered with another grin. At the look on Draco's face she added, "Don't worry! Madame Pomfrey's healed all of my injuries. It's not as painful as it looks, really."

Draco didn't believe it, but decided not to comment. He watched her take a pinch of yellow powder from the jar with her uninjured hand and add it to the cauldron's contents, making it fizzle slightly. "Tell me something, Lors. Why do you need me here?"

Lors looked up from stirring the potion. "I already told you, didn't I? It's a precaution."

Draco frowned. "I don't believe you."

Lors sighed in exasperation. "Why else would I ask you to come here, then?" she asked. "I'm fairly sure Harry is fine, but there is still the small possibility of a relapse. You're here to take Harry if that happens."

Worry flashed across Draco's face. "But I thought you said he's been cured."

Lors rolled her eyes. "That's why I said it was only a _precaution_ Draco, geez." She resumed stirring her potion. "So why are you here so early?"

Draco blinked. Truth be told, he had grown tired of staring at his four-poster bed's ceiling, stewing in his thoughts, that he simply left his room and wandered off. "I wanted to ask you a few things," he lied.

"Really? Well, ask ahead."

Crap. Now what? "Have you always liked Potions?" he asked, saying the first thing that popped into his head.

"Oh sure," Lors answered readily with a smile. "I've always loved mixing stuff ever since I was little."

Draco looked around the lab. "How did you get all these things?"

"Most of them I come across whenever I travel with my parents. I borrow most of the books from the library, though." She tilted her head. "Why the sudden interest?"

Draco looked away. "I was just curious," he shrugged, his tone light. He peered at the cauldron's contents: a viscous, gray liquid that issued a thin stream of smoke. "What are you making?"

One of my mother's own concoctions. It will help me with the spell to project an image of Harry's magical core."

Draco watched her add a few drops of amber liquid into the cauldron, turning the potion a bright orange hue. "Your mother must be happy that you're interested in the same thing she is."

Lors laughed. "Actually, she was vehemently opposed to the idea at first. She didn't want me to go through another accident that might possibly kill me." She smiled wryly. "My parents really wanted me to succeed grandfather and run the family dojo."

"Oh?" At the back of his mind Draco wondered what on earth a dojo was, but decided against asking Lors about it.

"Yep," Lors replied with a nod. "My mother was so hell-bent on the idea that she started teaching me even before I learned how to walk." She grimaced. "She trained me even when we were on expeditions. I hated it, really. But I never said anything, because I knew it would make her happy…does that make any sense?"

Draco lowered his eyes. "Yes, it makes perfect sense," he answered softly. He knew very well what she was talking about.

"But training never stopped me from doing what I love," Lors continued as she kept stirring her cauldron. "Eventually my mother gave in, with a little help from my Dad. So my cousin became grandfather's successor instead, and here I am." She gestured with her bandaged hand and grinned.

"You are quite lucky things turned out the way they did."

Lors looked curiously at him. "How so?"

Draco smiled humorlessly. "Not all of us are born to understanding parents, Lors."

"Oh." Lors's smile deflated. "I'm sorry to hear that." She paused, realizing something. "Was it your mother?"

Draco shook his head. "It was Father." His voice was flat.

"O-oh," Lors replied lamely. "So he—"

"Yes. He was the one who…_convinced_ me to be a Death Eater. Me, and my mother." He gave out a hollow laugh. "I didn't want to be one, but then circumstances quite literally forced me to make the choice."

Lors winced. "Sorry, Draco. I didn't mean to pry."

Draco shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He braced himself against the table with both arms. "I am no longer a Death Eater, at any rate."

Lors glanced sideways at him. "Was it difficult? To turn back?"

Draco smiled wryly. "It's not impossible."

Lors frowned for a moment, then shrugged, returning to her normal self. "Ah well. All of that's in the past now. And you're not such a bad person, really." She frowned when Draco started to laugh. "What?"

Draco wiped a tear out of the corner of his eyes, chuckling. "I'm terribly sorry; couldn't help myself. I just find you rather amusing."

Lors gave him a childish pout. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

Draco shrugged, still smiling. "It's just that you are the first person I have met who has never balked at the fact that I was a Death Eater." He glanced at her. "Aren't you worried I might throw a _Cruciatus_ at you when you least expect it?"

Lors stared at him for a few moments with a speculative expression, sighed, and shook her head. "I was just beginning to think you look rather fetching when you smile, then you had to go all serious again." She propped her chin on one hand, leaning against the table. "Look. I don't make a fuss about your shady career choice in the past because it's simply too much trouble. And like I said, you're not such a bad person." She raised an eyebrow. "Unless…you want me to make a fuss about it?"

Draco almost gaped at her. "I—well—no, I don't," he managed to say, then very quietly added, "thank you," before looking away, his cheeks tinged a slight pink.

Lors grinned wickedly. "Aww. Embarrassed, Draco?"

"Mortified beyond belief, actually," Draco sniffed.

Lors laughed. "You'll get used to it." She stood to stir the cauldron again. "Have you talked with Harry recently?"

The question threw Draco off guard, and he stiffened, trying to look nonchalant. "Why do you ask?"

"I noticed that you have been avoiding him lately."

"We're both just extremely busy."

Lors glanced at Draco. "But you don't even chat when we're at the Great Hall, Draco. Or the common room."

"…"

Lors turned to him. "Draco?"

"It's nothing you have to worry about," Draco said firmly, looking away again.

For a long moment Lors only stared at him with an unreadable expression. Finally she shrugged. "If you say so," she said, and turned her attention on the brewing potion.

Draco was taken aback by how readily she agreed. "You're not going to pester me about it?"

"Why should I?" Lors asked back, smiling mischievously. "Let me guess: Hermione."

Draco sighed. "This afternoon, just after lunch. I almost had to yell in her face to drop it."

Lors chuckled. "That's just the way Hermione is, I guess. Ron once told me how she pestered him and Harry to study for OWLs, whatever those are."

Draco remembered Pansy Parkinson and her constant invitations (or wheedling, if he had to be honest) that they go on dates. He shuddered. "Are all girls so persistent?"

Lors snorted. "Are all boys so daft?" she asked, her tone light.

"I resent that statement," Draco answered with a slight frown.

"You started it."

Silence followed her words. Draco watched her work for a while, thinking of how to word his thought. "Lors?"

"Hmm?" Lors was measuring drops of a dark purple liquid into the cauldron.

"What would you do if you said something quite horrible to someone, and couldn't take it back?"

Lors stopped in the middle of stirring and craned her neck to look at Draco. "Well, you apologize," she answered simply.

Draco frowned. "What if your apology is not accepted?"

Lors shrugged, resuming her stirring. "You apologize again until it is accepted."

"Wouldn't that make you look foolish, and extremely pathetic besides?"

"Yes. But then that's part of being very sorry for what you said. It shows that you are being earnest," she replied.

"But what if he thinks you're not a trustworthy person to begin with? What if in the past you've tried to hurt him and his friends although it hadn't been your choice most of the time? What if his friend hates you to no end?"

Lors blinked. "You seem awfully keen on not letting this person be forgiven."

"I'm just laying down the facts." Draco paused. "Of course, this is all purely hypothetical," he added quickly.

Lors's lip twitched, but she managed to keep her face neutral. "You know, Draco, I don't think this person has anything to worry about."

"Why?"

"Has the person he said all those horrible things to said something horrible back?"

"Well…no."

"Has he done anything in retaliation?" Again, Draco shook his head. "Then if you apologize, he will forgive you."

"How can you be so sure?" Draco didn't seem to notice the way Lors subtly implied that _he_ should apologize.

Lors smiled mysteriously at him. "He hasn't done anything—that means no matter how spiteful your words might have been, he cares for you too much to hurt you back."

* * * * *

Blaise Zabini lifted the heavy curtain partway and peered out the frosted window. Acres of barren fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, riddled with small clumps of leafless trees here and there. A lone dirt road twisted out of sight to the left. Satisfied that no one was outside, he let the curtain fall and turned to Pansy Parkinson. "Where are we?"

Pansy gave him a thin smile as she sat on a comfortable armchair next to the fireplace. Beside her, Guilly poured tea in pale blue china cups. "A hunting lodge, one my relatives had been fond of using years ago. Don't worry; it's isolated enough that no one will come across it by accident, and I've been careful to make sure it is not being watched." She sipped her tea. "It's not as comfortable as I would like, but it serves our purpose."

Blaise resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. True, it was sparingly furnished, with very little gilt and heavy drapery (in contrast to Pansy's taste), but it was far more comfortable than the places where their meetings with the other Death Eaters were held, or their constantly changing hideouts. Blaise didn't think he'd ever manage to remove the smell of stale dust and mold out of his robes. "Does Marcus know about this place?"

Pansy snorted at the mention of Flint. "Of course not. I treat this place as a sort of sanctuary, and I would like it to stay that way."

Blaise smiled dryly. "I see." He settled into another armchair. "So what is so secret that we must talk about you had to drag me all the way out here?"

Pansy glanced at her house elf. "Guilly, please double check the wards around the house, then guard the door. Tell me at once if you find anything amiss."

The house elf bowed, his long nose almost touching the floor. "Yes, mistress," he squeaked, and with a sharp crack he was gone.

"Wards, Pansy?"

"And traps."

Blaise stared at her. "Isn't that a bit if an overkill?"

"Not when your life is at stake," Pansy replied calmly.

Blaise shrugged. She had a point. "So what has got you worrying?"

Pansy seemed to be considering her words carefully. "Did Draco tell you anything else?"

Blaise had already been expecting this, but he still couldn't help sighing in exasperation. "I already told you several times, Pansy. Draco only asked for more time." He shifted in his seat, trying to mind his shoulder.

Pansy noticed, and frowned slightly. "Is it still painful?"

Considering that he had been thrown against a wall like a rag doll, Blaise considered himself lucky to end up with only a sore head and bruised shoulders. "Not too much, but it still bothers me," Blaise grunted, referring to his pride, knowing Pansy would understand.

Pansy nodded absently. "Listerman is too dangerous," she said. "What could Marcus be thinking, involving a necromancer in our plans?"

"I don't think Marcus planned this," Blaise replied. At the questioning look on Pansy's face he added, "You and I know him; Marcus isn't the type of person to risk his own neck. He would never go near someone as dangerous as a necromancer willingly."

Pansy frowned. "But Listerman always seems to defer to him."

Blaise shook his head. "I think he is only letting Marcus do what he likes. For now."

"Then who—"

"The only person who could manage this is the Dark Lord himself."

There was the sound of shattering porcelain when Pansy dropped the tea cup in her hands. Her face had gone pale as a sheet, her eyes impossibly wide as she looked at Blaise with incredulity. "Wh-what?"

Blaise regarded her seriously. "It is _him_, Pansy. I'm sure of it."

Pansy shook herself slightly, shaking her head as if to clear her mind. "O-of course I don't doubt this is within the Dark Lord's power. But…how?"

Blaise shrugged. "I have no idea," he replied simply. "But the necromancer would certainly know."

Pansy sighed in irritation, both at Blaise's words and her spilled tea. "That blasted necromancer again," she grumbled, drawing out her wand and fixing the shattered china with a flick and a muttered _Reparo_. "I have half a mind to tell Draco to stay put in Hogwarts and stay away from Listerman." She grimaced. "The man is positively vile, Blaise. And I'm saying this when I'm a _Death Eater_."

Blaise looked thoughtful. "He does seem quite eager to involve Draco in our plans, isn't he? Though I wouldn't have it any other way; Draco is the only person fit to lead the Death Eaters and bring back the Dark Lord."

Pansy nodded in agreement. "We'll have to warn him about Marcus and Adelbrand Listerman, though." She paused for a moment. "Will you be meeting with Draco again?"

"Within a month," Blaise assured her. "And hopefully, he comes back with me."

"What do you mean? Of course he'll come back," scoffed Pansy. "He wouldn't want anything else."

But Blaise was remembering the faraway look in Draco's eyes, the wistfulness in his voice when he said those cryptic words that still echoed in Blaise's mind. He could not help feeling Draco was telling him something important, but he could not guess at what. Ignoring the uneasy feeling it brought, he shrugged. "Of course. You're right, Pansy. Draco would never betray us." His eyes turned to the fire.

_You wouldn't…would you?_

* * * * *

_End of Chapter 13._

_Author's notes: This chapter was a long time coming, wasn't it? (laughs sheepishly) I was ecstatic to find that even though I have not updated in a long time, people still sent their reviews and put this story on their Alert and Favorite list…it was a nice birthday present (btw, my birthday was on the 11__th__). Thank you so very much for giving this story your love and attention!_

_The Japanese dialogue is basically Mai Ingleton demanding to know when and how the rings got broken, if Lors was alright, that sort of thing. Pardon my Japanese if it sucks.  
_

_To Ciiah: Well my dear, here it is. Another chapter. I hope you like it. Cheers, and here's to employment success! ^^  
_


	15. Harry's Magic

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, places, and related indicia are copyright to JK Rowling. Only the plot and the OCs are owned by Moiraine.

Warning: Scenes of blood and gore included in this chapter.

**Chapter 14: Harry's magic**

"What do you mean, my magic will attack?"

They were in their common room, Lors trying to explain what they were planning to do later that evening. Her parents sat on the sofa watching the discussion, while Ron, Harry, and Hermione each sat on low cushioned stools. Lors took up the couch, and Draco stood at the edge of the circle of chairs, near the door. Harry noticed that Draco was deliberately staying as far from him as possible without actually leaving, and he avoided getting into the conversation. He avoided meeting Harry's eyes, too. Good; Harry was still angry at him.

Lors gestured with her hands. "We are going to perform a ritual to enable us to see your magical core. Think of it like getting Muggle ultrasound; only this time, instead of looking inside your body, we're going deeper."

"The thing with doing this ritual," added Lors's mother, "is that it is complicated and dangerous. It needs two potions, and it will breach into the protective barrier of magic that surrounds your core. Your magic, Harry, would think this breach is a threat, and will act accordingly to protect you."

Harry unconsciously rubbed at his chest. "How do we get around that, then?"

"That's why I made two special potions for this ritual," Lors replied. She held up a finger. "Harry will drink the first one. It allows him to enter into a semi-conscious 'sleep' state; this way, his sub-conscious would be more subdued. It will lower the chances that his magic would become aggressive."

"It's like a magic sedative," Hermione added. Lors nodded and smiled.

"That's right! The second one should be drunk by whoever will enter the ritual circle with Harry and be the one to check if his core remains intact and unsullied by the botched transfiguration potion. Normally, Mum would be doing this, but since I was the one who made the potion in the first place..."

Harry looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Lors nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "I may not be as experienced as Mum on this, but I'm pretty confident I won't be turning you into a Squibb by accident."

"Er, thanks I think." Lors beamed at him.

Hermione noticed Ron was frowning, deep in thought. "Ronald?"

Ron, startled, looked up to see Hermione and the others looking at him, and he blushed. "Sorry. I was just thinking." At Hermione's encouraging look, he added, "Well, what if things go wrong?"

Lors tilted her head considering. "Well, Mum and I made sure the ritual circle was drawn correctly, and my potions are working."

"It's not that I don't believe you guys could do this," Ron said hurriedly. "It's just that...well, this is Harry we're talking about. Sorry mate, but I'm only saying this out of concern you know." He shot Harry an apologetic look.

Harry actually chuckled. "Don't worry. I get what you mean." In the corner of his eye, he saw Draco roll his eyes.

Hermione pondered on this. "You know, I think Ron may have a valid point." She looked at Lors and her parents. "What if things _do _go wrong? Harry isn't just an ordinary wizard; for one thing, his magic is stronger."

Mai considered this for a moment before answering, "I made sure the usual safeguards are in place for the ritual, so there's little reason for everybody to be concerned. But still..."

Her husband stirred. "When it comes to that, we shall have to act accordingly. After all, nobody is ever prepared for anything. We can, however, promise you that we will help in any way we can. My wife and I will be there during the ritual, too."

His words helped ease some of the tension that had been building up inside Harry ever since they began to talk about things going wrong. The truth was that Harry was already anxious about what they were going to do; he had never heard of looking at a person's magical core. He didn't even know that was possible until now. And from the way Lors and her parents, even Hermione, were talking about it, it seemed as if he was going to go under a major operation and everything had to go perfectly. Or else. Worry began to work through his gut again.

Mai saw Harry fidget and she raised a hand to gain attention. "Perhaps we should all get a rest for now. Harry, I suggest you try to meditate."

Harry blinked. "Meditate, Mrs. Ingleton?"

She nodded. "That's right. The potion would calm down you magic, but it would help if you were prepared mentally for this, too. Fully accepting that a person other than yourself would be 'touching' your magical core would greatly decrease the chances that your magic would become hostile. Come, I shall teach you."

Harry reluctantly followed her out the common room, closing the door behind him. Daryl Ingleton stood up then, a smile on his face. "Well. Seeing as I have free time, perhaps I shall go visit the grounds keeper. I heard from McGonagall that he has a rather impressive menagerie of creatures. Lors, can you show me the way?"

Lors nodded, happy to accompany her father. Hermione stood up, too. "I'll go with you."

Daryl smiled. "Of course." They left soon after.

That meant only Draco and Ron remained in the common room. The two of them stared at each other, neither blinking nor looking away, until Ron huffed. "I s'ppose I should...go finish that Potions essay..." he stood up and walked out the room stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Malfoy, who never said a word. Breathing a sigh he never realized he was holding, Ron took the steps two at a time, grabbing his bag, parchment and quill from the bedroom he shared with Harry, and paused.

Initially, he had planned to finish the essay inside the dorms, but seeing as Malfoy was here with him, he did not relish in the idea. Maybe he could finish it down in the Library?

Ah, but then again he would need Hermione's help to finish. He should wait for her here, shouldn't he?

"Damn it." He muttered darkly to himself, walking back to the common room.

Draco was still there. He was sitting on the couch now, staring at the fire intently. He did not look up when Ron entered. Content to just let him be for once, Ron set up his essay on the table, unrolling the parchment. It was still mostly clean, with only a few sentences written at the top, and those not very well done. Ron made a face as he pulled out the Potions text book and began looking for an explanation on why bat spleens should never be mixed with dandelion roots raw.

"That essay is due tomorrow."

The scratching of quill on paper stopped. Ron looked up with a scowl. "I know," he replied tersely. He went back to work.

There were a few moments of relative quiet. "You won't be able to finish that if you've only got the one book to copy from," Draco said in a quiet tone, lacking any heat or condescending tone.

It still annoyed Ron. He glared this time. "Sod off, Malfoy! Go bother someone else," he growled.

He looked up again. Malfoy was watching him this time, a blank expression on his face. He was not smirking or putting on airs, which was the only reason why Ron had not sent his book flying towards Malfoy's face yet. Instead of giving a caustic remark, Draco only said, "I have a few books in my room you can borrow. It would help you finish the essay a lot sooner. Wait here. I'll go get them."

He stood up without further ado and left, leaving Ron alone with his mouth agape.

When he returned Ron was standing y the fireplace, wand on hand and pointed at him. He frowned at Draco carrying three thick Potions books in his hands. "Alright. I know you're not Malfoy. Put those books down and your hands up where I can see them."

Draco snorted, walking purposely towards the table, and set his books down gently. He stood up and placed a hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised. "Really, Weasley. Is my behaviour this time too decent to be called normal?"

"Bloody right it is." Ron gripped his wand tighter, although his hand shook slightly.

Draco watched him for a moment, then sighed. He sat down on the sofa, chin in one hand. "Sit down, Weasley. It's really me. Here." He took out his wand and tossed it to Ron, who clumsily caught it in one hand and dropping his own wand in the process. Draco rolled his eyes and bit back his tongue to prevent him from saying anything.

Ron fumbled with both wands for a bit, growing redder with each second, until he decided to just grab both in one hand and sit down heavily on the couch across from Draco. He glared. "What's this about, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, as casually as he could. "You needed help with the essay. I was bored."

"What, so you just do random acts of kindness when you have nothing to do?" Ron made a face. "Get real, Malfoy. I know you; you won't do this without some sort of payment."

For a moment Draco was silent, then he sat up straight. "You're right, for once. I need a favour."

Ron laughed, darkly. "That's rich. What would a Malfoy want from me?"

Draco chose to ignore the barb and said, "I'm serious."

"So am I." Ron crossed his arms. "I'm going to ask you again, Malfoy. What's this about?"

Ron was curious to see that Malfoy, instead on ploughing on and demand whatever it was he wanted, paused. He sat back on the sofa, biting a finger against his lip. He even ran a hand through his hair and breathed out an exasperated sigh. Ron fought back the temptation to gape at him and instead bit back his inner cheek to keep from laughing.

Draco frowned into the fireplace, thinking about how he should go about this. His talk with Lors had him thinking that, perhaps... "How do I approach him?"

Ron's face was a look of pure confusion. "Who?"

"Harry, obviously."

"Harry?"

"Yes, Harry! How many of them do you know?" Draco snapped. He could feel his cheeks burn with shame, with mortification. But now that he was here, he'd be damned if he backed out. He ground his teeth and forced himself to stay in his seat, glaring at Ron for all he was worth.

Ron blinked several times, the urge to laugh suddenly gone. He could see the bright pink on Draco's cheeks and the way his eyes brightened with emotion. He was not stupid enough to ignore that Draco was being serious. He sighed, shaking his head. "You haven't spoken to him yet, then?"

Draco was taken aback by the unexpectedly calm question. He took a calming breath. "No, I haven't."

"Well, why not?"

"Because he—" Draco bit the words back, swallowing them painfully. "He was angry. So was I."

"And if I know Harry when he's angry..." Ron sighed again. "Merlin. You're both too hard headed for your own good, you know that?" Ron scratched at his head in exasperation. "Why don't you just talk to him?"

Draco snorted. "Easier said than done. Catching the Snitch without a broomstick would be easier!" He glared at the fireplace again.

Ron made himself comfortable in the couch. "Just bloody talk to him."

Draco wanted to tear his hair out. "Haven't you been listening to me Weasley? I said—"

"I got you the first time," Ron snapped, starting to get annoyed. "Just go and try talk to him again. Shove your bloody pride down your throat," he added when Draco moved to open his mouth. "If you want Harry to listen to what you have to say, you should do at least that. It's the one thing he hates the most."

Draco stopped, frowning. He stared at the fireplace again for a time before saying, "He hates me."

Ron didn't think he'd ever heard that sentence said in such a flat, dull voice, and yet sound completely petulant and child-like. No wonder his mother worried for him so much. "Harry doesn't hate you." Draco turned to him. "Well, he doesn't," Ron insisted.

"How do you know?"

"Harry doesn't hate people. Truth be told, I don't think he hated Voldemort all that much either," Ron said with a shrug. "Anyway, he doesn't hate you."

Draco crossed his arms. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Suit yourself." Ron stood and leaned over the roll of parchment that was supposed to be his Potions essay. "But if you change your mind, Harry's probably over at the Quidditch pitch with Lors's mother. After that, he'd be locked up in the Library with Hermione to catch up with all the work he'd missed." He sat down by the table and began to open one of Draco's books.

Draco watched him for a minute. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Ron took up one of Draco's books and shook it lightly. "Least I could do for these," Ron muttered. "And anyway, Hermione told me I should try to be nicer." He made a face. "Easier to do that when you're not acting like such a prat."

"I am not a prat," Draco replied waspishly.

"Yeah, yeah." Ron was ignoring him in favour of the books. "Just go on already. I don't want to see your face any more than I need to."

Draco scowled but stood just the same. He stomped towards the doors.

"Oi Malfoy! You forgot something."

Draco turned just in time to see his wand flying towards him. He caught it reflexively in one hand. Ron grunted. "Hmph. Maybe you're not half as bad a Seeker after all."

Draco fingered his wand in one hand, looking at Ron's back hunched over his essay. "Weas...Ronald."

Ron stopped and turned, an unreadable expression on his face. Draco squared his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said, turned around, and left.

Ron stared at the door long after Draco had gone. "Mal...Draco could actually be polite. Who knew," he mumbled to himself.

HPDM

"Clear your mind of all things, all thoughts. Let them run their course if you must, but they must not stay in your head. Let them out with your breath."

Harry took a deep breath of the chilly autumn air and let it out slowly. He wondered if his lungs would freeze if he kept up with this; his nose already felt frozen. Then he remembered Mai Ingleton's words, and tried to let all thoughts go. Would thinking about letting his thoughts go be considered breaking her instructions?

A sharp, stinging pain up the side of his head crashed through his concentration. "Ouch!"

Mai Ingleton dusted off her hands and looked at him. Hard. "You are out of focus, Potter. Try again."

Harry gusted out a breath. "Mrs. Ingleton, we've been doing this for almost an hour. I sucked at Occlumency, did I ever tell you that? Meditation is something I have no talent for, apparently." He rubbed gingerly at his temple. And his head was already ringing, ut he was not about to say that. No wonder Lors was terrified of her mother!

Lors's mother sniffed. "That's nonsense. Anyone could meditate. You just have to clear your head of any thoughts. Now, try again."

Harry shook himself and tried. He really did. But after five minutes he sighed, defeated. "I can't. All these things keep popping into my head."

Mai Ingleton stood before him, watching him with sharp eyes. "My daughter used to have the same problem, Potter. She could not meditate for the life of her. But she managed to do it, in the end."

Harry took this as his cue to take a break. He sat on the bleachers. "Why did Lors have to learn how to meditate?"

"You know about her unusual condition, yes?" Mai sat down on the bleachers below Harry and looked at him. "She had to have her magical core inspected almost every week because of that. Lors is no stranger to the ritual you will undergo tonight."

"Oh." Harry thought of this. "Did her magic...attack you?"

She cracked a smile. "Oh yes, several times. At first it was all we could do to save ourselves, my husband and I and the few Healers who wanted to cure her. Accidental magic is quite powerful you know, just uncontrolled. But after meditation her magic would be more accepting of our intrusions. Over time it got used to having me or her father touch her core."

Harry had a disturbing thought. "Will I have to do this again, then?"

Mai shook her head reassuringly. "No. We only need to make sure traces of the potion you drank have not remained."

"I've been wondering for some time," Harry said after a while, "but why are we going through so much to make sure the potion is completely gone? Why not just make me drink something to purge it instead?"

Mai tilted her head at him. "Hmm. Very perceptive, Potter. Very well, I shall tell you. But you must promise me you will not tell anyone else?"

Harry sat up straighter. He nodded.

"Lors told me how she made her transfiguration potion. Not only was it meant to be used on inanimate objects, it used ingredients that you would not normally have on hand."

Harry frowned. "You mean...Class A Nontradeable goods?"

"Worse, Potter. Items you would not have heard of, or ever would." Mai fixed her thick winter coat as she spoke. "Remember the unpurified ether? Lors used something similar. Very powerful, very potent. If she had used more than just a pinch of it your transformation would have become permanent."

Harry shivered at the thought of becoming a cat for his entire life. As Draco's pet, no less. The shiver returned, but for a different reason that made Harry flush. Mind out of the gutter Potter... "Was it that bad?"

"It could have been worse," Mai confessed. "I should be asking apologies for my daughter now," she sighed. "She can be too...enthusiastic, when it comes to potions. It is the one thing she can excel at without endangering other people to her magic."

Harry smiled at her. "There wasn't any harm done, Mrs. Ingleton. Really."

Mai smiled back. "Practice on meditating for now, Potter. Don't worry if you can't get the hang of it yet; Lors's potion would suffice." She patted him on the shoulder. "I'll see you later." She left with a wave of her hand.

Harry decided to hang back for a while and try to meditate again. He was confident the potion would work, but he didn't want to risk his friends' safety. The thought of his magic harming Ron or Hermione made him feel queasy.

The pitch was thankfully empty of people, since classes were still in session. The ground below was pitted and pock-marked because of the heavy autumn rains, and the chill was not helping matters any. Playing on such conditions would be difficult, but not impossible, though...

A sound from behind made him stop. Someone was walking up towards the bleachers, and rather noisily, too. Harry stiffened, his eyes hardening, when he saw who it was.

Draco looked around with a frown until he spotted Harry. He actually seemed hesitant, but then he squared his shoulders and raised his chin as he walked down the aisle than ran through the bleachers.

Harry stood up and turned in the opposite direction. He heard, more than saw, Draco falter in his steps. "H-Hey!" Harry kept on walking. "Bloody h—Potter!"

Harry scoffed inwardly. Did he really think he was going to stop for him? Not bloody likely.

Draco grumbled under his breath as he picked up his pace. At the back of his head, he laughed bitterly at the irony of their situation; only yesterday their roles had been reversed. Was this what Lors mentioned as karma? "Potter! _Harry!_"

Nope, not listening, Harry thought darkly to himself, and he walked even faster.

Draco considered using a spell, then thought better of it. He came here to _talk_, not make the situation worse. Plus, he didn't think people would think better of him if he pointed a wand at the Golden Boy's back. He was half-running to keep up with Harry now, the wooden floor of the stands pounding loudly with each step.

Draco was so intent on catching up with Harry that he lost his footing on the slippery floor, wet from the chilly autumn air and the light drizzle from not too long ago. One moment he was focusing on Harry's back, and the next the floor was hurtling towards him. There wasn't even a moment for him to do anything except close his eyes and yelp.

The crashing sound made Harry stop and turn. Draco was now sprawled on the floor, groaning, one hand flying to his face. Harry hesitated a moment before he sighed, turning back. He sat back on his haunches and helped him to his feet.

Draco could feel tears sting his eyes at the pain. His forehead had hit the floor pretty hard, and it was only thanks to his Seeker reflexes that he avoided a broken nose. His entire head felt like it had been slugged with a bludger. He groaned when the act of turning his head made pain spear through his temple. Make that ten bludgers.

Someone was pulling on his other arm and supporting his back as he tried to stand. Ah, Harry. "Are you alright?" His voice was flat, with a hard edge to it, but at least he was talking. That was a start.

Draco tried to open his eyes, and they watered the moment he did so. He rubbed against them. "I'm fine," he bit out, gritting his teeth against the pain. He gingerly touched his forehead and winced.

Harry made a sound in his throat. "You should put some ice on that. It's already starting to go red."

Draco blinked several times before he could open his eyes completely. Harry was standing a step away, his hands lowered to his sides, face wearing a guarded expression. Draco looked down on the floor. "Yes. Thank you."

Harry stood there for a moment. Draco thought he was going to say something, but then he turned and began to walk away.

"Wait, Harry."

This time Harry stopped. Draco raised his eyes to look at him. "I...well. I believe I...um, owe you an apology," he managed to stutter, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Draco fought the instinct to turn tail and flee, knowing this was probably his only chance to fix things before they got worse. "I was out of line."

Harry blinked once, twice. He did not say anything as he looked at Draco, green eyes unflinching. Draco refused to fidget; Malfoys _never_ did something as unseemly as fidget.

After several tense moments he saw Harry sigh, shake his head, and run a hand through his mop of untidy hair. "It's fine. I was at fault, too. I should have...well, maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut, if I had known it would upset you."

"No! What you did was the right thing," Draco said quickly. His cheeks were practically burning now, with the way Harry watched him. "I mean, it was only proper that you tell me. I just...I guess I was just hoping you hadn't remembered." He lowered his eyes to the floor again, now very much uncomfortable and wishing Harry would let it go at that.

Harry looked away for a moment. "Why though?"

"Huh?"

Harry turned his eyes back to Draco, who stayed rooted to the spot. "Why did it make you so angry to know that I remembered?"

This time Draco was sure it wasn't only his cheeks that were on fire. Why did Harry have the knack to ask the most uncomfortable of questions? "That's none of your business," he answered before thinking. He saw Harry's green eyes grow dark.

"I see," he said, flatly. He turned to go. "Later then."

Draco called himself ten kinds of idiots before grabbing onto Harry's sleeve. "Wait! Damn it, Harry I said stop!" He pulled, hard. Harry stopped on his third attempt, glaring at him.

"I thought you made it clear that it's none of my business," he said icily.

Draco winced. "Yes I did—but I didn't really mean it that way!" He sighed in frustration, running both hands through his carefully combed hair, uncaring now if he looked grossly unkempt. "You…you're making this too bloody difficult!" He started to pace, cheeks growing warmer with each step.

Harry frowned, genuinely confused. "What are you going on about, Draco?"

Draco kept pacing. "Don't you have any idea—any idea at all, why I would want you to keep your memories to yourself? About what happened?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't—"

Draco could have throttled him for his thick headedness. "Because I'm…I'm afraid, alright?" He covered his face with his hands as he paced, not wanting to let Harry see him like this. "I'm afraid, and I'm utterly humiliated by the fact that you remember what you—what we—what happened!"

"Why are you afraid?"

The question made Draco stop. He slowly lowered his hands, to see Harry watching him, his face slightly tilted. "Why are you afraid?" he asked again.

Draco hesitated. "Because…don't you hate me now?"

This time Harry looked startled. "Hate you? Why?"

Draco's stomach did a funny skip. "You said…you remember everything."

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I did."

The heat coming off of his cheeks could have melted ice, Draco was sure. "Then you know about…what we did. You came to me in my sleep and…I…we…" he shut his mouth when he could not find it in himself to finish the sentence, glaring meaningfully at Harry.

It took a few seconds. Harry was frowning thoughtfully one moment, trying to understand, and the next his eyes grew round as saucers, his cheeks flushing almost as brightly as Draco. "O-oh. You mean…that."

"Yes." Draco cleared his throat, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and awkward. "That." He squared his shoulders and looked at Harry pointedly. "I say that would warrant some sort of righteous anger on your part, wouldn't you say?"

He could see that Harry was just as mortified of this thread of conversation as he was, and it cooled some of his anger somewhat. Harry looked away, poking at his cheek with one finger in a gesture Draco found childish and utterly endearing. "Well, yeah…if…you know…I didn't quite uh, like it." He was mumbling by the time he reached the end of his sentence. He fidgeted where he stood.

Draco blinked, not quite sure he heard it right. "You mean…"

Harry glanced at him, a tentative smile on his face. "I don't hate you, Draco. Not for that." He took a step towards him. "Never for that," he murmured, loud enough for Draco to hear.

Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He stepped back on instinct. Harry stopped, watching Draco's face for a moment as if reading it. Then he smiled and stepped back, too. "I guess that clears everything up, then?"

"Wh—"

Harry was grinning now. "I'd better head back. I guess I'll just see you after dinner, yeah?" He gave a wave and left, not even bothering to look back.

Draco stood unmoving for a good two minutes after Harry had left, not sure exactly what happened. A light, bubbly feeling was beginning to grow from the pit of his stomach—something that made his cheeks burn horribly—but Draco quickly and vigorously squashed it with a firm, mental shake. Assumptions, he decided, would be very ill advised at this point. He looked at the spot where Harry had been standing.

Still, there was no harm in harbouring the thoughts to himself, is there?

HPDM

Listerman watched the scene from his fireplace, blue-black flames leaping without warmth. His pale lips stretched into an indulgent smile as he steepled his long fingers. So. The Malfoy boy was not entirely to be trusted. "Not to worry," he murmured. "This is nothing more than a nuisance I can easily remove…"

There was a knock on the door. Listerman did not bother to stand from the worn and battered loveseat. Instead he gestured with a hand. "Come."

Without the Death Eaters, the hidden room behind the abandoned flower shop was dark, dank, and smelled of the rank sweetness that told of decay. It was always such a bother to hide it when the children who thought themselves Voldemort's loyalists had to convene here for a meeting, but Listerman knew appearances had to be kept.

For this particular guest, however, he knew he had no need to.

The door swung open silently, disturbing the low-lying fog that drifted about the room. In the doorway stood a pretty young woman in jogging clothes, earphones still plugged into her ears. She was slightly short, with curly red-brown hair tied into a ponytail, her heart-shaped face slack and her dark eyes vacant. Listerman smiled, pleased. He gestured again. "Come here."

The woman wordlessly walked in front of the fireplace and stood facing the necromancer. Her eyes never focused on his face. Listerman stood, studying her from head to foot, before absently nodding. "You will do very well."

He took out a silver dagger from his robes. The blade was sharp and thin, the handle a polished white. It was a special knife that Listerman made with his own hands; the blade was made from metal stolen from a long-dead king's crypt, the handle made from the bones of the first wizard he had ever killed. It was created from fire and blood and spell, and it could cut through steel like it was air.

More to the point, it was the knife that Listerman used for his dark practice.

The woman had no chance. Listerman plunged the knife down her chest, until only the hilt showed. The Muggle woman did not scream, or twitch. She only rolled her eyes and fell, crumpling, to the floor. Blood blossomed on her pink jacket.

Listerman sighed, almost beatifically, as he pulled the knife from her chest. "Such beauty in death," he murmured. "I almost wish I could kill you again."

He knelt before the woman, beginning the meticulous preparations for the second part of the ritual that would allow him to visit the realm of the dead. He stripped her of her clothes—throwing the iPod into the fire—and lay the body down on the floor that had already been drawn with the appropriate runes. With a flick of his own wand (a dark and twisted thing) the loveseat floated to a corner of the room, and the flames in the hearth leapt higher as the room grew colder.

Then came the part Listerman loved best. He knelt before the corpse and used the knife, holding it gently, like a lover. Blood pooled from under the corpse, seeping into Listerman's dark robes, until the entire circle of runes was bathed in blood. He raised his arms, both warm and covered in deep scarlet, and began to chant in Parseltongue. His hissing and spitting grew in volume until the fires were snuffed suddenly, the room gone to freezing.

A thin, hissing voice seemed to whisper from beneath his feet, calling his name. Listerman gasped in ecstasy, prostrating himself on the floor. "My Lord," he gasped. "I am here, my lord."

_Where is my body?_

Listerman shivered, closing his eyes. "I-it will come, I assure you. Plans have been put into action." He swallowed, hard.

_And my Death Eaters?_

This was the news he dreaded to share, but Listerman dared not lie. "Still in Azkaban, my lord."

For a few moments nobody answered, and Listerman felt fear. He risked a glance upwards, to find that the corpse's head was now turned to him, its eyes glassy and open and looking at him.

_No matter. My body comes first, necromancer. I want it!_

Listerman almost knocked his head on the floor in his haste. "Yes, my lord! You shall have it before the month is up! You have my word!" He trembled again, feeling the dead arm rise from the floor, the cold, lifeless fingers treading itself to his hair almost painfully. He bit back a whimper.

_Make sure of it, necromancer. Or I shall have your soul._

HPDM

End of Chapter 14.

Author's Notes: (03-13-2012) And after ALMOST a year of inactivity, I have managed to post another chapter for (Cat)astrophe! Hurray! I must profess my apologies for the hiatus…again…but I am working to update the other stories, too. Look forward to the next chapter, where we will actually see what happens to the ritual with Harry, and if there would be any more fluffy moments between him and Draco. All reviews are welcome and will be answered most heartily! Cheers.


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